


Turnabout Intruder in My Pants

by the_deep_magic



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Bodyswap, Cliche, Crack, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Mirrors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-06
Updated: 2011-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:17:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Chris wakes up one Monday morning, he's definitely not where he should be...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Eternal gratitude to [info]ewinfic, my tireless cheerleader. This is dedicated to the ladies and gentleman of Beanfests '10 and '11. May there be many more.

_Fucking alarm.  Bastard fucking alarm._

The worst part is that Chris doesn’t even remember setting the goddamn bastard fucking alarm.  And he must be hung over to a truly disproportionate degree, because that shitty goddamn bastard fucking alarm sounds shriller than anything he’s ever heard before in his _life_.

Chris lurches toward the bathroom, his center of gravity somehow uprooted and stuck back in the wrong place.  And he probably should notice that the bathroom he’s stumbling toward is on the left side of the bed instead of the right, but he’s too busy trying to remember how much he’d had to drink the night before.

 _Not enough to be this fucked up_ , he decides as he makes it to the bathroom, not even bothering to glance in the mirror.  There are a hundred little things that should tip him off along the way, but he doesn’t have his glasses and everything’s a total blur before that first cup of coffee anyway.  But the facts that the soap isn’t where it should be and the sink’s the wrong color and everything from his ears down just feels a little bit _off_ doesn’t really coalesce into panic until he goes to pee.

That’s about the time he looks down and it suddenly hits him: _that is NOT my dick_.

He yanks his hand back like it’s been burned and spins around to face the mirror, his reflection a little blurry but recognizable. 

Of course.  Who else would it be? 

“You _fucker_ ,” he tells Zach’s face.

It takes him far less time to fumble around for the thick, black-framed glasses than it does for him to figure out Zach’s fucking iPhone.  When he finally manages to dial, it rings a dozen times and goes to voicemail before Chris remembers the time difference.  Somewhere in LA, he’s still sleeping.  Or his body is, at any rate.  He hangs up and calls again.  Then again.

When somebody finally picks up, Chris hears, “…the fuck, Chris?  This says I’m calling myself.  Is this your phone?  How the hell do I have your phone?”  _In Chris’ fucking voice._

“Zach.”

“Yeah.”

“ _Zach_.”

“What?”

“Look at your hand.”

“What?”

“Look at it.”

“I don’t know what you—”

A series of thuds as the phone first hits the bed, then slides down the covers to smack something (the nightstand?) before crashing to the floor.  Cursing.  The loud rustling of sheets.  Footsteps.  Louder cursing.  More footsteps.  Fumbling with the phone.

“What the sweet ever-loving _fuck_ , Christopher?”

Chris groans.  “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re in my fucking body talking with my fucking voice!”

“I _am_ in your fucking body talking in your fucking voice!” Zach shrieks, and fuck, does Chris’ voice really sound like that when he’s mad?

“So this is actually a thing that’s happening?  It’s real?”

“Maybe it’s a dream.  Are you dreaming?”

“I don’t think so.  Would I know if I was?”

“Probably not.”

“It doesn’t feel like a dream.  What the fuck is going _on_?” Chris moans

“I don’t know.  What were you doing last night?”

“I went out with some friends, we had a few drinks.”

“Anybody ask you if you want to take the red pill or the blue pill?”

“What?  No!  You know I’m not into…  No.  Why, what were you doing?”

“I did both parts of the show yesterday and the day before, so I just went home and crashed.”

Chris makes a strangled noise and leaps to his feet.  “Oh my _fuck_ , the show.  Zach, do I have to—”

“Not today.  Damn it, this happens on my _one_ day off a week—”

“Which is a good thing!” Chris yelps.  “What the fuck are we going to do?”

“I don’t know!  Why would I know?”

“Well I sure as hell don’t know!” Chris groans, swaying forward, suddenly aware of a sickening light-headedness.  “I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

“Shit, I don’t think I ate anything last night when I got home.  You’d better go to the kitchen; I think I have some granola bars in the cabinet by the fridge.”

Chris stumbles through the apartment, feeling every bit as clumsy as anyone who was unceremoniously ripped out of his own body and stuck in this ridiculously lanky thing would feel.  “What the _hell_ , Zach.  How am I supposed to move around like this?  I feel like Stretch Armstrong in a taffy puller.”

“Hey, don’t go insulting my body.  It’s a finely tuned instrument.”

“So is a nose harp.”

Zach huffs.  Loudly.  “Hey, I’m not exactly enthusiastic about the prospect of lurching around on your chicken legs, either.”

But Chris is already rooting through the granola bar cabinet.  Yes, an entire cabinet devoted to granola bars, and not a single one of them looks even the least bit appealing.  “Flax seed and walnut?  Seriously?  Don’t you have anything with chocolate chips?”

Again with the huffing.  “You might as well eat a Snickers bar.  No, Chris, I have real food.”

“Snickers _are_ real food,” Chris counters, settling on a bar that at least says “honey” on the wrapper and tearing into it.

“Remember to chew,” Zach snaps, and he’s got that bitchy tone; Chris can hear it, even in his own voice.

“Don’t be like that.  I’m just as freaked out as you are,” Chris says between bites, sinking down into one of Zach’s modern-looking but distinctly uncomfortable kitchen chairs.  His head starts to clear and he glances around – the apartment looks much the same as it did when he was here in May.  In his own damn body.

“I’m sorry,” Zach sighs.  “Shit.”  For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of Chris chewing, though he can practically hear the gears whirring in Zach’s head from three thousand miles away.  “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.   I can’t even imagine what caused this.  Well, I _can_ , but the least insane options seem to involve aliens or government mind control rays.”

“I was thinking voodoo.  Have you pissed off any witch doctors lately?”

“Nope.  Ugulu and I patched things up last week.  How about you?  Gotten any weird fortune cookie fortunes?  Touched any ancient Egyptian artifacts?  Pulled any suspicious-looking levers marked ‘swap bodies with Chris?’”

“No, no, and _no_ , you moron,” Zach says, but it’s affectionate.  “Okay, so, um, if we don’t know what caused it, how are we going to fix it?”

“No clue.  Should we… I don’t know, go to the hospital or something?”

“And say what?  That we may have switched bodies with someone on the other side of the country?”

“Shit.  I guess we at least need to try and get together.”

“I was thinking that, too.  But I have – well, I guess _you_ have a full run of shows this week, and—”

“Zach, I can’t do the show!” Chris gasps, flecks of granola flying from his lips.  “Are you crazy?  I’ve read it, like, twice, but I can’t just—”

“Don’t panic, I’m not asking you to.  But, fuck, if this hasn’t sorted itself out by tomorrow…”

“You have an understudy, right?”

“Yeah,” Zach says, and Chris would swear that it’s almost hesitant.

“Great, what’s his number?  Or do I call the director?”

“Well…”

“Well what?”

“It’s just… it’s _my_ part.  I mean, I know Eric does a great job and all, but—”

“Oh my god, Zach, I know it pains you to jeopardize your artistic integrity, but either I call the understudy or you’re going to have to deal with a whole bunch of theatre critics wondering why Zachary Quinto suddenly got a lobotomy.”

“Fine,” Zach grunts.  “Call Michael Greif.  His number’s in my phone.”

“Okay, great.  So I’ll fly out as soon as I can.”

“No!” Zach yelps.  “I can’t risk be seen ditching the play to run back to LA for no apparent reason.  You’re going to have to pretend to be sick.  Like, really sick.  And you can’t go anywhere.”

“Because I was totally planning on taking your body out for a joyride around town.  Give me some credit, here, Zach.  So you’re going to fly to New York?”

“That seems like our best bet.  Do you have anything important this week?”

“No, you can—  Oh, wait.  Shit, I have a meeting about the Jack Ryan thing on Wednesday.”

“Can you postpone it?”

“No, I already had to put it off three times because of extra filming for This Means War.  Shit shit _shit_.”

Zach, damn it all to hell, actually sounds a little excited.  “Ooh, so I get to play Chris Pine in the role of Actor Man.”

“Oh god, what are you going to do?”

“Nothing bad,” Zach says, and then stops.  Chris waits for it.  “I just might happen to mention that the screenwriters might want to break with Tom Clancy’s tradition and actually give Jack Ryan some kind of _personality_.”

It’s a rant he’s heard from Zach more than once since Chris had been tapped for the part.  “Not funny, Zach.”

“I’m not joking.  Seriously, Chris, for the sake of your career, somebody needs to say it.  I’ll say it nicely, I promise.”

“You will say _nothing_ , or… or…”

“Or what?”

It comes to him in a brilliant flash of light.  “Or I’ll make you fat.”

That shuts Zach up.  “You wouldn’t.”

“I will.  So help me god, I will roam the streets of New York eating corndog after delicious, greasy corndog until you balloon up like a whale.  And I will _enjoy_ it.”

“Don’t you fucking—”

“Hey, your stomach’s rumbling.  What’s that, Zach’s stomach?  You say you’re really sick of granola bars?  And all you long for is the savory tang of a delicious, preservative-laden, batter-dipped all-beef frank?  On a stick?”

“Fine!” Zach groans.  “You win.  I’ll keep my mouth shut and smile and nod like a good little boy.”

“Thank you,” Chris says through gritted teeth, “for not defending your indie cred at the expense of _my fucking career_.”

“As long as you don’t destroy ten years worth of meticulously healthy living in a moment of childish spite.”

Chris seethes quietly, imagining reaching through the phone line and slapping Zach.  There’s gotta be an app for that.  But he’d only succeed in slapping his _own_ face, which is just all kinds of fucked up, and how fast do you have to be breathing before it counts as hyperventilating, anyway?

“Okay.  Okay, okay, okay.  Okay,” Zach says, like he’s wrestling with his brain.  Chris’ brain?  _Fuuuuuuck_.  “Okay.  The plan: I will buy a plane ticket to New York.  You will call in sick.  We will both minimize our contact with other people until we can figure this out.”

“I guess that sounds… like the least horrifying option.”

Zach sighs.  “Could be worse.  You could’ve swapped bodies with… I don’t know.  John?”

“Actually, that would be kind of awesome.”

“Yeah, you’re right.  It would.”

&&&

“And I’m not even really supposed to be whispering,” Chris gurgles into the phone.  “The doctor was very clear – no talking at all.”

He’s hoping that some lemon juice, a lot of forced coughing, and those five cigarettes he found in Zach’s junk drawer ( _meticulously healthy living, my ass_ ) have done enough of a number on his – or rather, Zach’s – voice, to the point where this director guy isn’t going to demand an actual doctor’s note before he’ll let the understudy take over.

“And did this _doctor_ say how long your voice is going to be gone?”  He says “doctor” with the same inflection a normal person might use to say “child molester.”

“Uh… no telling,” Chris says quickly.  “Could be tomorrow, could be a week.”  _Could be for-fucking-ever_ , the cynical little voice in the back of his head says, but he wisely tells it to fuck off.

“I’m not happy about this, Zach.”

Chris bristles, getting into the part.  “Neither am I!  You think I want to give up Louis, even for a day?  You think—” He cuts himself off with what he hopes is a convincingly hacking, painful-sounding coughing fit.

“Alright, alright.  Don’t strain your voice any more than you have to, Jesus.  Take a steam bath, gargle salt water, whatever.  Just call me the second you can talk again.”

“Will do.”  Would Zach ever say “will do”?  It sounds weird in his voice, but Michael just sort of grunts goodbye and hangs up without another word.

Chris sighs and puts the phone down.  He has a feeling that he’s going to be hearing from that guy at least once a day, voice or no voice.  Standing up, he wanders back toward Zach’s bedroom, where the bedclothes are still in a tangled heap from kicking them off this morning.  Matter of fact, he’s still in boxers and an old Steelers t-shirt – he didn’t even bother changing after the nap that he’d held a vain hope would fix everything, after the second time he woke up in Zach’s body.

 _Zach’s body_.  Chris puts his arms over his head and stretches, immediately surprised at how much better he feels.  He supposes he’s starting to get used to it, but it’s still not quite right.  As long as he’s looking straight ahead, he’s okay, but the second he gets a glimpse of any part of Zach’s body, his eyes dart toward the unfamiliar sight like a tongue to a sore tooth.  They’re nearly the same height, not a huge weight difference either, but the distribution is all wrong.  Chris wasn’t lying about feeling gangly – Zach is all arms and legs, a little leaner on top but nicely toned all over, the yoga freak.

And the hair, god.  That’s what catches Chris’ eyes the most, the thick, dark hair sprouting from his forearms, calves, even his fingers and toes.  Chris has a decently masculine smattering of hair on his own forearms, but Zach has a fucking _pelt_ running all the way down to his wrists.  Chris can’t stop looking at it, playing with it; he’d been tugging lightly on it the whole time he was on the phone.  The fur tapers out to nothing above his elbows, which is sort of odd, but then there are small tufts of chest hair trying to poke their way above the stretched-out collar of the t-shirt.

Chris has been avoiding mirrors all day because it’s just too goddamn _weird_ , seeing somebody else looking back at him.  But he supposes he’d better just face it – maybe if he stares long enough, something will start to make sense.  It’s as good of a plan as he’s thought of yet, which is only a little depressing.  He decides to just plunge in, going to the closet and closing the door to gaze into the full-length mirror mounted on it.

The Zach in the mirror stares back at him, his face reflecting the shock Chris feels.  That should in no way be a surprise, but everything’s sort of a surprise, even down to the fact that when Chris raises his hand, it’s Zach’s hand that lifts in the reflection.  He reaches up and touches Zach’s face – the stubble there is rough, much coarser than Chris’ own.  It feels good to rub, satisfying against his fingertips, and it takes him a few moments to realize that he’s just standing there, essentially molesting Zach’s chin.  He pulls his hand away immediately, slightly embarrassed.  Instead, he tugs a hand through Zach’s hair, shorter than it was in May and now standing straight up in wonky bunches all over his head.

He drops his hands and stares at himself full-on.  Something’s off, and after a moment, Chris realizes that it’s his posture.  Zach stands straighter than this, his head held a little differently, and no sooner does Chris think it than Zach’s body seems to straighten up on its own.  _Muscle memory_ , Chris thinks.  Possibly the reason he was able to stumble to the bathroom without running into the wall or even realizing that anything was amiss at first.  It’s Zach’s routine, conditioned into his body.  Chris tilts his head, watching Zach’s face turn along with it, and wonders what else, exactly, this body knows.

It’s far past time to get dressed, anyway, so Chris reaches down and tugs the hem of the t-shirt over his head and tosses it away.  He doesn’t mean to look at himself in the mirror again, not really, but he can’t help it.  Zach’s never been shy about his body, so it’s not like the view is entirely new to Chris, but he’s never allowed himself this close a look.

Without thinking, he rubs a hand across his belly, a little shocked to feel both the hair and the firmness of the muscle.  Zach’s abs are closer to the surface – he doesn’t have that little pooch that, despite hours and hours of crunches, Chris just can’t get rid of.  Zach had just laughed at him, told him he was imagining things, but Chris knows it was mostly good lighting and a fair amount of sucking in his gut that made him look good on camera.

But enough of that train of thought.  Chris pulls open the closet door, flips on the light, and winces hard at what he sees.  Stripes, everywhere.  Jeans that look terrifyingly small.  Hat after hat after hat.  After a bit of digging, he finds that old, battered pair of jeans he remembers Zach wearing when they were just hanging out at his house, and pairs it with that flannel shirt he bought Zach as a joke one time.  Frankly, he’s a bit surprised Zach still has it.

Luckily, Zach’s got more food around than just granola bars, so Chris doesn’t have to worry about going out to get more.  He heats up the leftovers of a chicken breast with some kind of lemony sauce and boots up Zach’s computer.  The internet has to have some answers.

He really has no idea where to begin, so he just types _bodyswap_ into Google, braces himself, and hits enter.

&&&

Five hours later, Chris has read numerous Wikipedia entries, watched episodes of both the Original Series and Voyager, and skimmed about a thousand fanfics for various science fiction shows and movies (including some very explicit Kirk/Spock, which is kind of an amusing thought, but what the shit is with that double-ridged cock?) but is absolutely no closer to either a cause or a solution than he was before.  He would probably have gleaned more hard scientific fact from watching Freaky Friday. 

Looking up from the computer, Chris is surprised to find that the living room is nearly dark.  He hadn’t realized it was almost nightfall.  He sets the laptop aside to get up and flip on lights in the living room and kitchen.  He’s just starting back to the computer when he’s hit by a sudden feeling of entrapment.  It makes no sense – he’s been in this apartment for less than a day – but all of a sudden he feels like he’ll go crazy if he doesn’t get out for at least a few minutes.

It’s cold outside, and Chris is under strict orders not to be recognized, so he bundles up in the chunkiest layers of clothing he can find.  He remembers Zach talking about a café around the corner; some coffee would be perfect right now.  That’s when it hits him that Lamill is now 3,000 miles away, and Zach’s front door promptly receives a swift kick and the swearing-out of its quiet, rectangular life.


	2. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some minor consent issues: [SPOILER] masturbation while in someone else's body without their prior permission [/SPOILER]

Zach makes it an entire 24 hours. No, more than 24 hours, really, since that bastard Chris woke him up at 5 am yesterday and it’s a more reasonable hour today. Zach’s of the opinion that he ought to be sainted by now, despite the growing bulge in his boxers.

He supposes he might have had a little morning wood yesterday, but his immediate introduction into the Twilight Zone was quite the effective bonerkill. He’s kept things pretty much hands-free except for the absolute necessities, even though it had taken some deep breathing and calming visualization to will away an erection in bed the night before.

But fuck it all, Chris’ body must be used to some regular morning delight, because Zach is awake and he’s _hard_. He does give into ethical considerations for a moment before realizing that to deny Chris’ body its regular routines would just be cruel on all levels. Can’t hand this body back over with a raging case of blue balls. He’ll be quick and business-like about it. Decision made, he kicks away the covers and tugs off his boxers. Ooh, yeah, Chris has a nice cock. It’s not overly long but it’s thick, sprouting from an unruly patch of hair and rising a little even as Zach looks at it.

And if “Thus Spake Zarathustra” plays in his head while he catches his tongue between his teeth and slowly reaches down to the monolith currently jutting out over his belly, well, it’s Chris’ fault for making him watch 2001: A Space Odyssey too many times while drunk (because, god help him, as pretentious as he is, that’s the only way Zach can make it through 2001: A Space Odyssey).

And it _is_ a bit like the discovery of fire. Or the discovery of masturbation, at least. Because Zach knows his own body’s responses like clockwork, knows just how much motion and pressure he needs to make things go faster or slower. But this body, this is completely new to him. He doesn’t know its needs, its limits, its hot spots. The touch itself is familiar, but the hands and the skin under them are brand new.

He starts simple – just a hand wrapped lightly around his cock. It’s Chris’ right hand, Zach realizes, that has taken the initiative here. So he’s right-handed now; he’ll have to remember that. Maybe he shouldn’t examine his cock too closely – after all, it’s not technically _his_ – but he’s already committed to this, so he figures he might as well just make the best of it.

A visible vein runs from the thicket of hair at the base to just under the head, and he traces it slowly with the pad of his thumb, up and then back down again. He can actually see the blood thrumming ever so slightly through the thin skin. The crown is a little less flared than his own as Zach runs his fingertips around it, but he already can tell it’s a darker red. What’s killing him is that, from his vantage point, it doesn’t _look like masturbation_ – it looks like Chris’ hand very thoroughly and leisurely exploring Chris’ cock, which in turn looks a great deal more like a few of Zach’s more explicit dreams than he’s comfortable with. He has to shut his eyes after that, the whole process seeming much less intrusive when he can only focus on what he’s feeling. _Touch, but don’t look._

Zach lets his hands wander a little more, one up to his chest and one lower. He’s a little disappointed to find that Chris’ nipples are much less sensitive – hardly any erotic sensation at all, no matter how he rubs or pinches them. Chris’ balls are quite another story; just rolling them in his palm makes Zach gasp. They’re almost too sensitive, but as long as he keeps a light hand, the feeling raises goosebumps all along his arms.

If he overthinks what his hand is doing, he stops – it feels strange to be doing it with his right hand, after all. But if he lets his mind wander a little, he finds his hand knows almost exactly what to do, how fast to tug, how much to tighten. And before he knows it, hello, lefty has joined in, too. It’s not a straight climb – he has to stop when he squeezes his balls a little too hard, has to dig in the nightstand for some lotion when spit isn’t enough – but it builds, slowly and inevitably. His mind wanders between some of his favorite fantasies, getting a nice little jolt when he mentally subs in Chris’ body fucking Christian Bale over the hood of a car.

The closer Zach gets to his climax, the more his body seems to function on its own. He doesn’t have to think about thrusting his hips up to meet his fist, he just does it, though in his own body he’s usually pretty still. He feels it coiling in his lower belly like always, but it also makes his mouth go dry, his feet curl in on themselves. It’s different, like watching a favorite movie scene from an entirely new angle and seeing details that were never there before.

When it finally builds to the breaking point, his hand flying over his cock and his back arched off the bed, Zach gasps. His orgasms have always felt like a wave, washing up from under him, but this is a pulse of pleasure radiating out from his center. It feels like he’s never come before in his life, and he strokes hard and slow to try and draw it out as long as he can. But it’s over all too soon, leaving his skin damp and tingling and both his hands sticky.

Well, that killed about twenty minutes.

&&&

Zach glances at the TV. Then at the four remote controls sitting on the coffee table. Then back at the TV. The last time he attempted to push a button, Neil Young started blaring out of the stereo and Zach had to yank the plug out of the wall to turn the damned thing off. Problem is, he doesn’t remember which of the remotes did that. He supposes that one has now been rendered effectively harmless, but that still leaves two bringers of potential horror and one that might – just might – let him watch the Ace of Cakes marathon promised by the TV Guide. The print version of the TV Guide. Chris still gets that, apparently. Him and Zach’s 90-year-old great aunt.

He’s just considering braving the phone to text Chris when the Blackberry rings, the display reading “Zach Quinto,” and he really needs to change that because it’s still unsettling, getting phone calls from himself. “What, Chris?”

Hearing his own voice on the other end is no better. “Can you talk?”

“I guess. I thought we weren’t going to call each other unless it was an emergency.” They’d decided it was just too weird to hear their own voices talking at them.

“It _is_ a fucking emergency,” Chris hisses dramatically, and Zach makes a mental note never to use that tone of voice again. Ever.

“Oh my god, what did you do? You’re not at the hospital are you? Chris? What the fuck did you do to my body?”

Chris has the audacity to snort. “Wow, histrionics are really not flattering on me.”

“You’re the one who called _me_ , asshole! And said there’s an emergency!”

“Well, it is… kind of.”

“Fucking spill it, Pine.”

“Yeah, okay, right,” Chris breathes, obviously psyching himself up for something. “Okay. So. I think… I’m gay.”

The remotes – all four of them – are utterly, utterly forgotten. “You’re _what_?”

“I’m gay, Zach! Your body is making me gay! Or at least bisexual, I think. I don’t know.”

“What are you telling me? Not 48 hours in my body and you’ve fucked someone?”

“What? No, nothing like that. I just… I went out today, I was getting cabin fever, you know? And I’m at this café – sitting in the back, I was careful, I don’t think anyone saw me – and this couple goes up to the register and the guy is hot, right? Like, anybody with eyes would say he was hot. But I didn’t just think it. My eyes – _your_ eyes – start wandering down to his ass, and then it’s like, what would that ass feel like in my hands? What would that ass feel like around my—? And then I realize my pants feel tight and I’m getting a boner. A boner for a _dude_ , Zach.”

Fuck Ace of Cakes. This is right here is _entertainment_. “Aw, Chris, your first gay hard-on! I’m so proud! What did you do?”

“Stabbed my hand with the fork until it went away. But then I look at the guy’s girlfriend, ‘cause she’s hot, too. Really nice legs, right? And it takes a little bit of focus, but I start getting hard again when I think about rubbing… when I think about her.”

Zach can’t help it. “Fascinating.”

“So it can’t all be controlled by your body, because you don’t get, _you know_ , from the ladies, right?”

“Chris, if you’re asking me whether sexual orientation stems from the physical body or the mind, I’m no more qualified to answer that question than you are.”

“Yeah, but do you—? I mean, are you, like, straightish now?”

“Well, I haven’t had the opportunity to, uh, re-evaluate my stance on women, but trust me, I’m still all about the cock.”

“Wait, why do you sound so sure about that?” Chris snaps. “You didn’t…”

“Not with someone _else_ , no.”

And Zach probably should have seen it coming, but Chris freaks the fuck out. “Oh my god, not okay, Zach! Bad touch! Bad touch!”

“How is this a big deal? It’s _your_ hand and _your_ dick. I’m assuming based on your hand strength and poor vision that this is not a novel combination.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in the driver’s seat!”

Zach winces. Yeah, he really didn’t think that one through so well. “Chris, I know you don’t exactly have any basis of comparison, but trust me when I say your body is _really_ horny. Like, all the fucking time.”

“News flash – you’re not exactly a monk, either. The _first_ hot guy I saw. The very first one.”

“But you haven’t—?”

“No, Zach, I _haven’t_. Because this body isn’t mine to play with.”

“It’s fine with me if you want to.” Chris is quiet for a moment, so Zach says, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to deny yourself. And c’mon, I know you’re curious.”

“Yeah,” Chris finally admits.

“Then go for it. It’s kind of cool, actually. Different.” Chris doesn’t say anything right away – maybe the thought is too much – and Zach’s guilt gets the best of him. “But if you don’t want me to anymore, then I won’t.”

“No, it’s… It’s okay, I guess. I just kind of wished you had asked first.”

Zach really does feel bad, but he can’t help the edge to his voice. “Sorry, Chris. The next time we switch bodies, I’ll be sure to ask you if I can use your penis first.”

“Seriously though,” Chris sighs, “how are you dealing with this so much better than I am? You don’t sound like you’re freaking out at all.”

 _Well, the wanking helped_ , Zach thinks, but he says, “I’m just not freaking out at the moment. I’ve done my share of it, though. Do you realize you have the worst wardrobe in the history of time?”

This has the result of making Chris sputter indignantly. “My wardrobe? _My_ wardrobe? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there was anything worse than eight pairs of the same ugly-ass skinny jeans and a stupid hat for each day of the week.”

“Just for that, I am going to find that visor in your closet, put it on backwards, and get papped coming out of LAMILL. No, not LAMILL. Starbucks. And I’ll even wave sweetly for the cameras.”

“ _Zach_.”

“Kidding. I was kidding. You know I wouldn’t do that.”

Zach finds himself holding his breath for the few torturous seconds before Chris finally sighs, “Yeah, I know.”

They lapse into silence for the moment, and it’s actually a relief for Zach not to have to hear his own voice through the speaker but still know that Chris is there on the other end of the phone, reminding Zach that he’s not actually insane. Or at least that he’s not the only one.

“Why us?” Chris finally says, voice surprisingly soft. “Why did this happen to us? I mean, it’s not like we’re… I haven’t seen you since May, and we haven’t even talked on the phone since… I don’t know when.”

“It wasn’t that long ago, was it?”

“You were just starting the previews for Angels, so… September-ish?”

“Shit,” Zach mutters. “I didn’t think it had been that long.”

“We’ve both been busy.”

“Yeah.”

“Still, though.”

“Yeah. I don’t even know what you’re doing these days.”

“I start on This Means War… oh, fuck, next week. We’ve got to figure this out before then.”

 _No shit_ , Zach almost says, but manages to hold back. If this had happened during the run of Inishmore, Chris would be just as upset as Zach is.

“So,” Chris says, his tone conversational again. “Have you bought plane tickets yet?”

“No, not yet. I couldn’t get on to your computer. What’s the password?”

“Oh, uh…” Chris mutters some indistinguishable consonants into the phone.

“Didn’t catch that.”

“Tiberius. It’s Tiberius, alright?”

Zach pauses to savor the moment. “You’re cute,” he says. “Like a puppy.”

“Shut _up_.”

“Like a dozen puppies. A dozen puppies frolicking in a meadow, their tiny noses beset by a light dusting of pollen. What’s this? They’re _sneezing_ , oh god, too cute—”

“I hate you.”


	3. Wednesday

By Wednesday, Chris is about to go out of his mind.  He’d been too freaked out after that last foray into the outside world to repeat it, but cabin fever is starting to set in, and he knows he can’t handle another day on Zach’s couch, doing nothing but watching episode after episode of Mork and Mindy.  God alone knows when Zach had decided to buy the complete series on DVD.

Chris has to talk to someone.  Someone who is not Zach talking in Chris’ voice.  Someone who is not Zach, period.  Chris has an old college buddy in New York, but he hasn’t talked to the guy in a couple of years and there’s no way he’s just going to show up on his doorstep like this.  No, it would probably have to be a friend of Zach’s who Chris has at least met before.

Picking up Zach’s phone, Chris scrolls through the contact list.  Name after name goes by that he doesn’t recognize, and in the end he’s left with Corey, Neal, and Victor.  Chris has never done more than shake hands with Victor, so he’s probably out.  More than once, Chris has hung out with Corey and Neal at Zach’s place, though he wouldn’t actually call them his friends, per se.  Neal seems like the more level-headed, less fanciful of the two – so Chris calls Corey.

Forty-five minutes later, he’s seated in a diner two blocks from the apartment, slouched down in a booth with his hood pulled up over his head while Corey goes to work on a mountain of chili cheese fries.  “Can’t believe you’re playing hooky,” Corey says, shaking his head but with a dark little gleam in his eye.  “So irresponsible, Zachary.”

“Wouldn’t do it without a good reason,” Chris mutters, trying to glance around without looking like he’s glancing around.  Has anyone recognized him?  He doesn’t think so.

“So what’s the deal?  Why did I have to hike all the way across town if you’re the one with the day off?”

Chris shakes his head – he’s not sure he can get the words out.  “You’re not gonna believe this.”

“Believe what, that you’ve finally set aside your hipster ways and started dressing as a… nearsighted hobo?  Is that what that is?  ‘Cause I actually like it, and if I like it, you know it’s bad.”

“Corey, listen…” Chris says, and Corey’s eyes narrow.  Right – Zach always calls him Moose.  Well, maybe that’ll make what he’s about to say more convincing.  “Something really weird happened, I don’t know what, but as of Monday morning, I’m, um.  I’m not Zach.”

Corey merely lifts an eyebrow and keeps chewing, so Chris goes on.  “I know how insane this sounds, but I’m actually Chris.  Chris Pine.  In Zach’s body.  I have no idea how the fuck it happened, but like I said, Monday morning I woke up in this body.  And Zach is in mine, in LA.  We, uh, swapped.  He’s flying out here as soon as he can, but he has to pretend to be me in an important meeting today, and I’m going right the fuck out of my mind because did I mention I’m _in Zach’s body_.”

Regarding him thoughtfully, Corey says, “That’s highly improbable.”

Chris blinks.  “Improbable?  That’s all you have to say?  You don’t think I’m going nuts, or trying to play a prank on you or something?”

“Well, I mean, it’s not _logically_ impossible, like a four-sided triangle or something.  Not as long as you subscribe to the dualist philosophical tradition of Descartes and, despite the best intentions of my physicalist college professors, I do.  Also I read this really convincing book on astral projection one time.”

“You…”  Chris is lost, well and truly lost.  “What?”

“Obviously I’ll require some sort of corroborating evidence,” Corey says, dabbing delicately at his mouth with a napkin.

And fuck it, Chris wasn’t hungry a few minutes ago, but those chili cheese fries look damn good.  He’d all but promised Zach he wouldn’t, but he figures one bite isn’t going to hurt, so he reaches over and scoops up a four-fry pile of beans and beef and cheese, cramming them in his mouth all in one go.  Technically still one bite.

“Interesting,” Corey says carefully after a long, searching look.  “Well, Chris, what’s your plan of action?”

Chris swallows the half-chewed lump of food a little too soon.  “You believe me?”

“I believe Zach would know that any amount of chili makes him gassy.  You’re in for a surprise there soon, my displaced friend.”

Chris almost groans, but then remembers he’s actually got an ally here.  “So what do I do?”

Corey leans forward, munching thoughtfully on a fry.  “And you have no idea what caused this?”

“No.  Zach and I talked it over, and neither of us was doing anything out of the ordinary Sunday night.”

“Okay, well, I’m assuming that a solution is more important than a cause in the short-term.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, how are we going to fix it if we don’t know what caused it in the first place?”

“Well, let’s look at this in a narrative light.  Teleologically, if you will,” Corey says, sounding surprisingly matter-of-fact for someone with a smear of nacho cheese on his cheekbone.  “This sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life, it happens in stories.  So why does it happen in stories?”

“Magic machine, magic fortune cookie… just magic, usually.”

“No, I’m not talking the efficient cause, I’m talking the final cause.  The function in the narrative.”

“Well, I guess…” Chris thinks about it, all those stories he read.  “To learn to see things from the other person’s perspective, right?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Okay, let’s say you’re right.  What is it I have to see from Zach’s perspective?  I feel like I already understand him pretty well.  I mean, usually there’s some type of central conflict between the two characters who switch bodies, right?  Zach and I get along fine.”

“You might not even realize there’s a conflict.  That could be the conflict.  Are you being entirely honest with yourself?”

“Am I… what?”  Corey’s gaze is disturbingly penetrating, and Chris is starting to wonder whether he should have called Neal.

“If I had to guess, I’d say that there’s some kind of realization you’re meant to come to, some kind of epiphany you’re meant to have.  That’s how it usually works.  And after you have that epiphany, BAM – you’ll switch right back, no harm no foul.”

“But… that’s not how the world works.  This isn’t a story, it’s real life.”

“Do people switch bodies in real life?”

“Well… no.”

Corey shrugs, going back to the cheese fries.  “If it looks like a plot trope and sounds like a plot trope.  That’s really the only advice I’ve got to offer.  It’s either candid self-reflection, or… I dunno, I guess you could call NASA or something.  See if they’ve worked out that body-switching ray yet.  I heard it wouldn’t be ready for human tests until 2015, though.”

&&&

Chris is careful to lock the two deadbolts and chain on Zach’s door on his way in, just in case.  Of what, he’s not quite sure, but having an unlocked door certainly isn’t going to help anything.

When he gets to the bedroom, he flops over backwards onto Zach’s bed, enjoying the little bounce from the springy mattress.  He pulls his absurdly long legs up to rest his heels on the edge of the bed and… _wonders_.  He’s thought about it idly ever since yesterday, when he reached down to pick something up and realized he could bend far enough to set his palms flat on the floor.

He glances around the bedroom, even though there’s obviously no one else in there with him and Zach probably doesn’t have any recording equipment set up in here.  And if it does, it’s not on right now.  Probably.

So he toes his Chucks off and kicks them away, scooting on his back up the bed.  The jeans he’s wearing barely let him bend his legs, so he wriggles out of them as well.  And there’s no use in keeping the shirt on once the pants are gone.

He tries not to think about how he’s pretty much naked on Zach’s bed, instead focusing on how exactly to do this so he doesn’t injure himself.  There’s got to be some kind of technique for it, right?  He’s sitting up by now, so he tries a few toe touches, just to test the waters.  The waters, apparently, are quite bendy.  So far, so good.

After realizing he’s probably overthinking it, Chris lies back down and decides to just go for it.  In one motion, he kicks his (Zach’s) right leg up, grabs his ankle, and fits it neatly behind his head.  “Holy crap!” he says aloud through a laugh, because that was nowhere near as hard as he thought.  He feels the stretch in his thigh and lower back, but it doesn’t hurt.  It almost feels good in a weird sort of way.

Once he’s done the right leg, he figures he might as well try the left.  This one’s a little bit harder, because he kind of has to tuck his left ankle behind his right ankle and it makes his neck crane out at an awkward angle, but it works.  He’s managed to fit both his legs behind his head, and it feels really, really… not sexy.  Not at all.  He’s pretty sure he looks about as erotically appealing as a pale, hairy pretzel.  How is this supposed to be hot again?

He sighs, a little disappointed, and figures he’d better stop before he pulls something.  Except… _shit_.  His legs don’t seem to want to move.  His neck, especially, is really starting to hurt, but his ankles are sort of locked in place. 

“Fuck,” he mutters aloud.  He tries to straighten out—no, that’s not going to work.  Maybe if he…  No, that makes it a little worse, and now something distressingly near his groin area is starting to cramp.  Out of frustration, he ends up rocking back and forth, trying to gather momentum and hoping everything will right itself and he’ll snap back into shape like a rubber band.  It’s almost working, he’s almost got his left ankle to slide up...

Until he rolls right off the edge of the bed.

&&&

The bag of frozen peas over the lump on Chris’ head is starting to drip water down into his eyes when Zach finally returns his call.  It’s not actually from rolling off the bed; that’s his right shoulder.  No, the bump on his head came when Chris did – in the shower, jerking off to try to forget about the pain in his shoulder. 

And because, well…  He’d had to listen to some torturously extensive voice mails from someone named Cody.  Yes, voice mail.  Zach – the man who talked Chris’ ear off months before the iPhone came out – still has an answering machine on his landline that puts the caller’s voice on speaker while recording the message, like a fucking 90’s sitcom.  Which is how Chris knows every single agonizing detail of how well Zach fucked this “Cody” person two weekends ago, liberally interspersed with the whine of “Why don’t you call me, baby?” 

What he’d initially mistaken for irritation turned out to be the beginnings of good old-fashioned horniness, because by the time he’d gotten in the shower, he could no longer ignore his aching hard-on.  Or the fact that it had something to do with listening to Cody rhapsodize over the dexterity of Zach’s tongue. 

Despite everything, it had been a _really_ fucking good wank, too, up until the end.  Apparently, Zach’s knees go all wobbly when he comes standing up.  Some indignant part of Chris feels sure Zach should have warned him about that, or at least put those little grippy stickers on the bottom of the bathtub, and thus it can’t possibly be Chris’ fault that his head is throbbing.

Long story short, Chris is not in a chipper mood when Zach finally calls.

“How did it go?” Chris asks the moment he picks up the phone, failing utterly at keeping the grumpiness out of his voice.

“Y’know,” Zach says, “this really isn’t getting any less weird, talking to myself on the phone.”

“Don’t stall, asshole.”

Zach sighs, and Chris’ gut clenches before he hears, “It went fine.  They barely needed me – well, you – there, anyway.  Kept talking about me like I wasn’t even in the room.  I took notes, though, and I’ll bring them with me.”

“You got a flight?”

“Yeah, tomorrow night.  I get in around nine your time I think.”

“Fuck, they didn’t have anything sooner?”

“Not that wasn’t first class and cost an arm and a leg,” Zach says with a bit of an edge in his voice.

Chris groans.  Why is Zach starting to sound annoyed with _him_?  “Okay, the bohemian pauper bullshit is fine when it’s just you, but this is an emergency.  Our bank accounts can take the hit.  You’re, like, the worst movie star ever.”

“It’s how I was raised,” Zach snaps back at him.  “I’m truly sorry I didn’t have celebrity parents.”

Oh, fuck, not this again.  Even though Chris grew up with money and Zach didn’t, it’s not really a sensitive spot for Zach – the “movie star” thing, however, is.  Like Chris is somehow impugning Zach’s honor by accidentally reminding him he’s a commercially successful film actor.  Still, though, he really needs to leave Chris’ family out of this.  “And I’m sorry my childhood wasn’t as _authentic_ as yours was.”

“Jesus fuck, Chris, you don’t get to call me pretentious.  Mr. English Major and you’ve never even cracked the spines of half the books on your shelves.  I’m looking at them now.”

“I’m just really careful with my books!” 

Zach just laughs, all the crueler because it’s Chris’ own laugh turned on him.  “Sure you are.”

“Well, I realize you prefer the company of less intellectually challenging men.”  Chris isn’t even pretending he’s not lashing out, just trying to get a rise out of Zach.  “Cody in particular sounds like a real mental colossus.”

“Who?”

Of course Zach doesn’t know.  Maybe he never bothered to get the guy’s name.  “Maybe this will sound familiar: ‘oooh, baby, lick my ass, stick that gorgeous fucking tongue in me.’”

“What the fuck, Chris, you have _no_ right—”

“To what?  Listen to the airheads that leave messages on your machine?  Trust me, I’d really rather not have heard that.”

“You really want to start this?  Judging who we sleep with?  Because, let me tell you, you have no ground to stand on there.”

Ugh, Chris had almost forgotten how obnoxious arguing with Zach can be.  It usually gives him a stabbing pain just behind his left eye – he hopes Zach’s feeling it now.  “I can’t do this right now.  Just fucking get here as soon as you can.”

“Yeah,” Zach grumbles.

In the movies, there’s always a click and a dial tone to indicate that the other person has hung up.  In real life, there’s just Chris saying “Zach?  _Zach_?” into the phone before he figures out what’s happened and chucks the stupid fucking thing across the room.


	4. Thursday

Zach’s still pretty pissed, but what can he do – _not_ go to New York and try and get his body back?  Not an option.  First, of course, he’s got to actually get to New York

He rings the doorbell again, shifting his weight from foot to foot on the stoop.  There's a car in the driveway, so hopefully he hasn't come all the way over here for nothing.  His flight leaves in just a couple hours, anyway.  
   
When Joe finally opens the door, Zach is so glad to see such a familiar, normal sight that he throws his arms around Joe's neck.  
   
"Whoa.  Uh, hi, Chris, how's it going?"  
   
Shit.  Well, Chris and Joe had done a little drunk cuddling on the press tour, so this isn’t totally unprecedented.  Still, Zach lets go of him quickly.  "Hey, Joe, pretty good.  Can I come i— Oh my god!"  At the sound of the jingling, Zach pushes his way past Joe into the house.  
   
Noah rounds the corner at top speed but can't quite get his footing on the hardwood floor.  His nails scrabble for traction and he finds it, but not before his rear end overshoots the turn and collides with the wall.  Buoyant as ever, though, he launches himself into Zach's – well, Chris' – arms just as Zach bends down to greet him.  
   
"Hi, buddy!  Oh, who's a good doggy?  Who's a sweet doggy?  Joe, you've got to remember to clip his nails.  Your floor will thank you."  
   
"Uh, sure thing," Joe mutters as Zach continues to scratch vigorously behind Noah's ears.  The dog wriggles happily and licks at Zach's face, and for a second, Zach forgets everything that's happened in the past three days, just elated to see one of his babies again.  It’s the best he can remember feeling in days.  But then Joe says, "Wow, Chris, I didn't know you and Noah were so close."  
   
"Oh, um.  Zach called me the other day, asked me to check up on him."  
   
Joe rolls his eyes.  "Jesus, Zach and this _dog_.  If he finds out I've been feeding him regular dog food, he's going to shit a brick."  
   
Zach catches himself just in time, glad Joe doesn't catch the pained expression on his face before he can get it under control.  "Weren't you supposed to _only_ be feeding him that high-protein organic food?"  
   
"Hey, I totally did – until it ran out.  Do you have any idea how expensive that crap is?"  
   
"Joe, if you need money, I’m sure Zach will..."  
   
"Not the point.  Besides, Noah likes the regular stuff better, anyway."  Joe shrugs, leaning back against the closed door.  Right, he'd consider Chris a guest.  And probably not want to leave him alone in his house, especially not after that incident with the lamp in Paris.  "So, what's up?"  
   
"I, um..." Zach tries to say it, say _Well, since you asked, I'm actually your brother in Chris Pine's body_ , but his voice dies in his throat.  
   
"Yes?" Joe asks, quirking his eyebrow, the bastard.  It took Zach months to learn how to do that, but of course Joe was apparently born knowing how.  
   
"Could you drive me to the airport?  I'm going to visit... Zach."  
   
Now both of Joe's eyebrows shoot up.  "Really."  
   
"Uh, when he called me the other day, he asked me if I would go see him.  Maybe see his play."  
   
"Taken you long enough," Joe snorts  
   
Damn straight it has.  "I know.  I feel kind of bad about that."  
   
"You should.  Do you have any idea how much he's..."  
   
"What?" Zach snaps, his hand dropping from Noah's head.  What exactly is Joe about to say to Chris?  "He's what?"  
   
"Nothing," Joe says, shaking his head.  "Nothing, man.  Just, I thought maybe you were..."  
   
Noah is smacking Zach's hand with his nose now, but Zach barely notices.  "You have some kind of problem finishing your sentences?"

Joe laughs and throws up his hands.  “Hey, back off, jackoff!  When’s your flight, anyway?”

“In… two hours.”

“When did you buy the tickets?”

“Just the other day.”

“Fuck, you couldn’t have, like, called or something?”

“I can drive myself, it’s not that big a deal.”

“Nah, I’m free,” Joe says, scrubbing his hand over his hair.  “Better leave soon if we want to get through traffic, though.”

After one last rub down Noah’s back, Zach stands.  He didn’t come over with the intention of telling Joe, but Joe’s his brother.  He has to believe him, right?  “Joe, listen.  Before we go, I have to tell you something.”

“Alright,” Joe says, heading back toward his bedroom.  “But be quick about it.”

“I’m, uh…”  Joe isn’t even looking at him, and he doesn’t know what to say, so it kind of comes out in one big rush.  “I haven’t been able to figure it out, but something really weird happened on Sunday night, or possibly Monday morning, and I woke up, uh, not in my own body.  And I know it sounds crazy and you probably aren’t going to believe me, but I’m Zach.  I’m your brother.  Somehow I managed to switch bodies with Chris, even though we’re 3,000 miles apart and I haven’t seen him since, like, May, and neither of us have any idea how it happened, and we’re going to meet up in New York to try and figure it out, so that’s why I’m going to New York.”

Somewhere in the middle of all that, Joe had stopped digging through his closet for a jacket and turned to face Zach.  “So… you look like Chris.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re really Zach.”

“ _Yes_.”

A slow smile spreads across Joe’s face, and for just one second, Zach thinks he gets it.  But then Joe lilts, “So, ‘Zach,’ how _are_ you enjoying your stay in Chez Pine?  I’m sure there’s plenty of unused head room up there.”

“You don’t believe me.”

Joe laughs and shakes his head.  “It’s a new one, I’ll admit, but it’s a little over the top, even for you two.”

Dammit, Zach knew there were going to be repercussions for getting Joe’s suitcase sent to Beirut that one time.  He’d _tried_ to tell Chris, but Chris had insisted… alright, they both thought it was funny at the time.  “Joe, I know how this sounds, but I’m telling the truth.”

“Y’know, it’s really best not to fuck with someone who just agreed to drive you to the airport,” Joe says, ducking into his closet and emerging with a pair of shoes.

“No, seriously, ask me anything.  Something only you and I know.   Remember when we were kids and you dared me to eat an entire package of double-stuff Oreos and I puked black all over Mom’s good coat?”

“Shit, I can’t believe he told you about that.”

“Joe, come on, ask me something.”

“Alright, _Zach_.”  Joe appears to think it over.  “What did I tell you after you opened my present on your last birthday?”

Oh, shit, Zach can’t remember.  In his defense, he’d been drunker than fuck that night but trying to hide it, since Joe always took advantage of Zach’s slower wit when he was drunk (which actually puts him on par with Joe, Zach is fond of claiming).  What had Joe said?  Something about their dad?  Zach definitely doesn’t want to guess that and have it not be right.  “That’s not fair.  I was drunk.  Ask me something else.”

“Chris, seriously, I’ll drive you to the airport, but give it a rest.”

 “Come on, Joe.”

Almost to the door, Joe whirls around on him.  “I’m sorry, you seriously expect me to believe you pulled an X Files-level body swap with my brother?  What the fuck, Chris?”

“I don’t think that ever happened on The X Files,” Zach says weakly. 

Hearing the sound of Joe’s keys, Noah bumps his head against Zach’s thigh and whimpers.  _I know, buddy_ , Zach thinks, reaching down for a final scrub of his head.  _I miss you, too_.

&&&

About halfway to the airport, Zach realizes there’s just no way to convince his brother.  Plus, Joe’s starting to become obviously irritated, and Zach’s seen him push a man out of a moving car before.  True, it was fifteen years ago and the car was only going a few miles per hour, but still: moving car.

“Tell Zach I said he’s a total squirrelfucker for not calling me on my birthday,” Joe says as he hefts Zach’s bag out of the trunk and sets it on the curb.

“Yeah, uh, thanks for the ride,” Zach mutters.  He starts to raise his arm to hug Joe, but then realizes it might be kind of weird coming from Chris and puts it down again.

Joe gives him a strange look.  “Hey, no fucking around now – be nice to my brother.”

Zach nearly falls over – he’s never heard those words pass Joe’s lips before.  _Hey, punch my brother in the throat_ , maybe, and definitely _See if you can hit my brother in the head from this distance_ , but never “Be nice to my brother.”  Joe’s being serious, too.  Why would he say that?  Yeah, Chris can be a dick sometimes, but Zach’s pretty good at returning his dickishness in kind when the need arises.

By the time he remembers he should probably reply, Joe’s back in the car and driving off.  Zach tries to flag him down, but either Joe doesn’t see him or doesn’t feel like stopping.  It’s been known to happen.

Zach goes inside to the e-ticket machines, intending to avoid checking his bag.  Sure, as Chris had so helpfully pointed out, Zach can afford the $25 fee many times over, but really it’s the principle of the thing.  If they make him check his bag at the gate, he’ll deal, but no way is he paying to carry basic necessities.

Only one of the machines appears to be working and it’s occupied by a family with at least five children – they’re surrounding their parents like a giant screaming cloud of electrons, so it’s impossible to get an exact count.  The actual check-in line looks like it’ll take less time, so Zach steps over, pulling the wallet out of his pocket and removing the ID.

As he waits in line, Zach can’t get Joe’s words out of his head.  He supposes it’s not that odd of a thing for a sibling to say, but why had Joe felt the need to say it to Chris?  As far as Zach knows, Chris hasn’t been in regular contact with Joe since the press tour.  And he’s pretty sure Chris wouldn’t have badmouthed him to his brother anyway.  It doesn’t make any sense.  Yeah, Zach had gone through a period where he had sort of a… thing for Chris.  But Joe doesn’t know about that.  Does he?

“Next,” calls the hassled-looking man behind the ticket counter, and Zach steps up.  “Name?” the guy asks, like it’s painful to spit the words out.

“Zachary Quinto,” Zach says in a low voice, hoping not to call attention to himself.

“Destination?”

“New York.  La Guardia.”

“Checking any bags?”

“Nope.”

“ID, please.”

Zach hands it over, fingers of the other hand fiddling idly at the hem of his hoodie.  Funny – he doesn’t usually do that.

“I’m sorry, sir.  What did you say your name was?”

With a sigh, he murmurs his name again.  _Balls_ , Zach thinks, _not a Sylar fanboy_.  He really can’t deal with that today, because—

“Then why did you a hand me an ID that says Christopher Whitelaw—”

 “ _Fuck_.”

“No, Pine.”

Zach tries to think fast.  It is largely unsuccessful.  “Because, uh, that’s my name.  One ticket to New York for Chris Pine.  That’s me.  Chris Pine is my name.”

The man cocks an eyebrow – is he fucking with Zach?  “Alright, Mr. Pine, what’s your date of birth?”

Oh, shit.  It’s definitely in late August on an even-numbered day, either the 24th or 26th.  Zach can never remember.  Chris always gives him crap for it, too.  “August… 26th?”

Zach’s pretty sure he got it right, but he must’ve taken too long, used the wrong intonation or something, because the guy behind the counter is picking up his walkie-talkie without taking his eyes off Zach.  “No, wait, sir, I really am Chris Pine.  That’s my face on the license.  See?”

He does his best to replicate the tragically dorky smile he knows Chris is sporting in the picture, but the guy is obviously unmoved.  “Then who is Jeffrey Quinto?”

“Zachary.  _Zachary_ Quinto,” Zach corrects before he can stop himself.  “He’s no one.  He’s just some idiot, I swear.”

The guy raises the walkie-talkie to his mouth.  “Hector, I’m gonna need security to Delta counter four.”

“No!” Zach yelps, much too loudly.  “You don’t need to call security.  There’s no problem here.”  Seven thousand photographers in the greater Los Angeles area seem to have Chris’ face tattooed on their asses, and this guy has no clue.

The guy takes a careful step back from the counter.  “Look, Mr. … Pine, or whoever you are, I’m carrying a taser and I’m authorized to use it in emergency situations.”

“No, please, there’s no need for that.”  People are starting to stare now – how has this escalated so quickly?  Chris’ body’s fight-or-flight response is obviously way touchier than Zach’s because he can feel himself breaking out in a sweat.  Not suspicious-looking at all.  Nor is his recently purchased one-way ticket to New York (who knew how long before he’d be back in his own body?) and lack of checked baggage.  Again, _fuck_.  “My flight is in half an hour, if we could just…”

Zach had unthinkingly ducked his head for low visibility and leaned forward so he could speak more quietly, but the guy obviously takes it precisely the wrong way.  “Sir, step away from the counter.”  His hand drops to his belt, but the walkie-talkie’s already sitting out on the counter…

Then Zach’s hands are being yanked behind him and a zip tie is closing around his wrists.  He hears a few gasps and prays no one’s got a cell phone camera out.  Large hands spin him around to face the biggest woman he’s ever seen.  She’s easily as tall (and broad) as he is, and she’s wearing a navy blue security uniform and a nametag that reads “Bev.”

“Come with me, please,” says Bev.  It’s not a request.

&&&

In point of fact, Bev ended up being Zach’s saving grace.  She’d frowned as he’d stammered through a story about how it was all supposed to be a joke, but then vouched for him to the other security personnel in the room.  When they left, she’d confessed to being a Trekkie “from way back,” patted him down in a very business-like manner, and strictly instructed him to hold off on the pranks until they were back on set filming number twelve.  But that hardly makes for a good airport story, so Zach’s planning on telling Chris about Javier, the (slightly imaginary) TSA officer with a gruff demeanor but gentle hands.

But first, he has to take the time to thoroughly regret moving into a building that doesn’t have an elevator.  It had seemed fun and quaint at the time, but maybe Chris has a point about the movie star thing.

Zach’s so focused on lugging his suitcase up five flights of stairs that he doesn’t spare a though for what’s on the other side of door number 58.  He actually digs in his pocket for the key before remembering that he doesn’t have it because it’s not his pocket.  Or his hand.

He’s just raised his fist to knock when the door starts to creak open.  “What the hell,” he hears his own voice say.  “I thought you were supposed to be here three hours ago.”

Zach has a retort all ready to go when Chris steps forward into the hall light and it’s…

“Zach.”

“Chris.”


	5. Thursday

_“Chris, what—”_

 _“Quick, get in here before anybody sees us.”_

 _“Oh my god, this is insane.”_

 _“Tell me about it.  I don’t even know—”_

 _“That’s really you in there?”_

 _“As far as I can tell.”_

 _“Are we completely losing our minds?”_

 _“Maybe?  I don’t know.”_

 _“God, this is so… It’s… It’s good to see you.  Or, um, me.  But mostly you.”_

 _“You too.  Sorry I was so pissy on the phone, but I’ve kind of been…”_

 _“Yeah, same here.  So… now what?”_

 _“Well, I’m tired, so you’ve got to be exhausted.  Maybe if we just sleep on it for now?”_

 _“Yeah, that sounds good.”_

 _“It’s your place, so you can have the bed.  I’ll take the couch.”_

 _“My mom would probably kill me for not arguing, but I’m going to take you up on that.  Thanks.”_

 _“Go for it.  And, uh… Zach?”_

 _“Yeah?”_

 _“Is that really what my ass looks like from the back?”_

 _“Affirmative, Captain.”_

&&&

Turns out there’s nothing like seeing your own face staring back at you across your doorstep to make all your other problems seem very, very small.  Chris remembers arguing with Zach about something, but for the life of him, he can’t think what.

He wakes up on the couch, then as reality slowly comes to him, he shoots up, staring at his hands and hoping to see his own—  Nope.  Goddamn hairy wrists.  It was stupid to think that mere proximity plus sleep would magically do anything about it, but every time Chris wakes up, even from a quick nap, he has that split second of hope before it gets squashed like a bug under a steamroller.

He must have made a noise, because from the bedroom he hears a resigned “Mother _fucker_ ” and realizes Zach’s awake, too.

Chris doesn’t think he can deal with looking at his own face right at this (pre-coffee) moment, so he just yells to the other room, “You wanna use the bathroom first?”

“Yeah,” comes the answer, and Chris has a feeling Zach’s in the same state of mind.

Chris stumbles into the kitchen to fire up Zach’s ancient Mr. Coffee.  After four days, he’s a pro.

&&&

“Okay, on three.”

In the opposite corner of the cleared living room, Zach huffs.  “Are you sure this is going to work?”

Chris flaps his arms in annoyance.  “No, of course I’m not fucking _sure_.  But this is the very last thing I could come up with, and you didn’t have any reasonable objections on the off chance it might work.”

It’s true – they’ve spent the morning and into the afternoon trying everything either of them can think of.  Chris had gotten a jumbo box of fortune cookies from the store the other day, and they each opened them again and again until Zach got “Alas, the onion you are eating may be someone else’s water lily” twice and they had to admit it wasn’t working.  And that fortune cookie fortune writers were running seriously short on inspiration.

They had tried chanting various things, both while facing each other and while standing side by side in front of a mirror.  So really, Chris was just spitballing when he threw out, “Hey, why don’t we just stand on either end of the room and run into each other _really, really hard_ ,” and was astonished when Zach actually took him up on it.  Or, well, didn’t give him a resounding “no,” anyway.

Together they’d cleared a path through the living room and gotten all items with sharp edges or corners out of the way.  Chris had even piled up blankets and pillows in the center of the room, despite Zach’s insistence that it wasn’t going to do any damn good since head injuries were the major concern here and they didn’t have helmets.  After which Chris pointedly asked Zach if he thought head injuries could possibly make the situation any worse, and when Zach didn’t have a reply, Chris just stuck out his tongue and added another pillow to the pile.

Plus – and this is kind of weird, and that’s saying something considering Chris’ new threshold for “weird” – Chris feels physically pulled toward his own body like a magnet.  All morning, he couldn’t help setting a hand on Zach’s (his own) shoulder every chance he got, or huddling close in as they bent over the computer, trying to pull up any missed possibilities.  It makes the idea of crashing into each other, trying to get as close to his body as possible, less insane than it sounds.  That’s the excuse he’s going with, at least.

But now Zach looks like he’s having second thoughts.  “I’m starting to come up with a few reasonable objections.”

“No,” Chris says firmly.  “Thinking is the enemy.  We can’t think.  We have to just… go.”

“But—”

“Do it for Louis, Zach.”

Zach contorts Chris’ face to look like he’s going to be sick.  “Oh, fuck you.”

But he stops arguing.  Maybe he feels it, too, the magnetic pull – Chris seems to remember Zach brushing his fingers against Chris more often than usual, getting into his space when ordinarily he would keep a healthy distance.  Chris takes a deep breath and says, “Okay, right after I say three, we run as hard as we can and just… try to avoid knocking heads.  One, two… three!”

Chris has to hand it to Zach – on three, he goes full tilt, and Chris does the same.  They’d agreed to sort of aim chest to chest.  But as fast as Chris’ body is, Zach’s legs are longer, so Chris gets to the pile of pillows first, still at full speed, and is just starting to trip over them when Zach gets there, so Chris’ shoulder (under Zach’s control) sort of ends up hitting Zach’s body (under Chris’ control) square in the chest, knocking the wind out of him, and knocking them both to the floor in vaguely opposite directions.

Thrashing back and forth on the floor in the mess of pillows, Chris wheezes until his breath comes back.

“Shit,” he hears Zach repeating.  “Shit shit shit.  Chris, I’m so sorry.  Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Chris says at last.  He can breathe and it hurts like a son of a bitch, but not in a way that feels like anything important’s been broken or ruptured. 

“Do you need me to… do anything?”

Even imagining sitting up makes Chris dizzy.  “How ‘bout we just lie here for a little while?”

“Oh, um.  Okay.  Sounds good to me.”  Chris hears Zach shuffling around a bit, gets a quick glimpse of him as he gently stuffs a pillow under Chris’ head.  “Are you sure you’re not hurt?  I mean, I don’t want you to be hurt, but also because I’m kind of hoping to get that body back in one piece.”

“Yeah, no, it’ll just be sore.  You just knocked the wind out of me, is all.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Zach says again, flopping back onto the pillows.  “I should not have agreed to that.”

“Yeah, let’s not listen to my ideas anymore,” Chris says, even though that crashing touch, fleeting as it was, felt momentarily perfect.  The bit before the lancing pain, anyway.

“Except the idea about lying here for a bit.  That one I can get behind.”

“Uh-huh,” Chris says.  It’s actually not so bad, lying on a pile of soft stuff and staring up at the ceiling.  He’s almost gotten used to talking to his own voice, but staring at his own face is still fucking with his brain.

“So,” Zach says, in a peculiarly conversational tone, “did that jar loose any particularly startling new insights?”

“Well, I don’t know if this counts, but I forgot to tell you, I talked this whole thing over with Corey—”

“You _what_?”  Zach groans disbelievingly.

“I called Corey.”

“Did you tell him about the…” 

“Yeah.”

“And he believed you?”

“Disturbingly quickly, as a matter of fact.”

Zach groans again, and Chris can actually hear his own palm hitting his own forehead.  “My own brother wouldn’t believe me.  He thought it was a prank.”

Ouch.  “Zach.  I would think it was a prank if I wasn’t currently stuck in your body.  _I_ wouldn’t believe me.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Zach says, glancing down at the floor, and Chris is a little taken aback at the clearly audible hurt in his own voice.  Is he usually that transparent?

He figures he’d better change the subject.  Or, well, change it back.  “Has Corey always talked like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like…” Chris struggles to encapsulate Corey in a few words.  “Like Aristotle on heavy narcotics.”

Chris feels a motion on the pillows like Zach shaking his head.  “Peyote, actually.  Summer between junior and senior year, he went to Arizona on a ‘spirit quest.’  But the best Neal and I can tell, he actually spent three months stoned off his gourd in a makeshift yurt behind O’Flannery Brothers Auto Repair in Sedona.”

“Yurts aren’t Native American.”

“Yeah, neither are the O’Flannery brothers.  Anyway, Corey was never quite the same after that.”

“Well, he had some, uh, interesting theories about our predicament.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  He said we ought to think about why this happened.  Not just, you know, what did it, but… what we’re supposed to learn from it, I guess?”

Zach takes a few long moments to process that, then says, “Yeah, that’d be Corey.”

“So… now what?” Chris asks, daring to slowly sit up.  It’s a process that must be taken in stages.  “Is there some kind of voodoo priestess in the neighborhood?  Do you have a copy of the Necronomicon?”

“No such thing,” Zach sighs, his face turned away from Chris on the pillow.  “Besides, all we’d end up doing is summoning the Old Ones.  Read your Lovecraft.”

“Never was one for short stories,” Chris says, grabbing a pillow and scooting over to where they’d moved the couch against the wall.  Actually climbing up on the couch seems a bit ambitious, so he just props himself up against the base and closes his eyes, trying to imagine a world where this – any of this – makes sense.

Chris has been turning it over and over in his brain for four and a half days now, and he simply can’t think about it anymore, at least not right now.   But he’s got his friend here in their peculiar predicament, and with some serious denial in place, he can have some fun with it.  “Heeeeey, Zach?”

There’s a sigh from the stack of pillows.  “What?”

“Did you ever figure out if my body turned you straight?”

“Did I… oh.  _Oh_.”  There’s a meaningful pause.  “Well.  I may have perused some, uh, adult viewing materials on the internet.  And certain… acts and/or anatomical structures which once puzzled me are now… clearer in their appeal.”

“So you jerked it to het porn, huh?”

He hears Zach roll over.  “You know,” Zach says, “for someone who was all ‘ewww, don’t touch my bathing suit area’ a few days ago, you sure are being cavalier about this.”

Chris knows he’s blushing now – Zach’s cheeks are absolutely the worst at hiding it – but whatever.  This isn’t real.  None of this feels real.  Not the ache in his chest, not the couch against his back, not his own voice across the room.  Here, ensconced in Zach’s body with his eyes closed, he can say whatever he wants.  “I’m kinda getting used to it, you know?  The whole gay thing.”

Zach snorts, and there’s an unexpected bitterness in his tone.  “Good for you.  That only took me all of my adolescence and most of college to come to terms with.”

“No, no, I’m not trying to say I understand what it’s like to… y’know, go out in the world and be something that you feel like you have to hide, something ignorant people condemn.  I’m just saying… a dude with another dude.  I get it.  It’s hot.  Or it can be, anyway.  Depending on the dudes in question.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t think…”  Zach’s tone is so compelling that Chris opens his eyes.  Zach is sitting up now, wide-eyed.  “You don’t think that’s the revelation we were supposed to come to, do you?  You know, Corey’s thing?”

The thought had occurred to Chris just the day before, but when he heard Zach’s admission just a few moments ago, he knew that couldn’t be it, whatever _it_ was.  “We’re still in the wrong bodies, Zach.  If that was the thing, we’d probably have switched back.”

Zach sighs, looks down at Chris’ body dressed in an old Berkeley sweatshirt and pair of jeans.  “Yeah.”

He sounds so forlorn that Chris says the only thing he can think of to placate him.  “Y’know, I’m actually getting used to this body.  It’s not so bad.”

With a snort, this time one of laughter, Zach looks up.  “Why Chris, that might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.  My body is, and I quote, ‘not so bad.’”

Chris laughs too.  “Seriously.  You’ve got some nice muscle tone going on here.  And your abs?  I’m totally jealous.”  He leaves out the body hair bit.  Something about that seems… inappropriate to share at the moment.  “It just took me a couple days to learn how to move right.”

Zach grins.  “You’re not so bad yourself.  I feel bad about the chicken legs comment – you can run pretty fast, especially when you’ve been delayed by security and your flight’s about to take off.”

“You still didn’t tell me the full story.  I want to hear all about Bev.”

“You can’t have Bev.  She’s mine.  Our wedding will be small, but we’re honeymooning in the south of France.”

After mutual chuckles, they fall silent again, and Chris forces himself to look at Zach, really _look_ at his own body tangled amongst the blankets on the floor.  “Zach?” he says, more somber this time.

“Yeah?”

“What if we…?  I’m saying… maybe we should prepare ourselves.  Not give up, you know, but just start thinking about what happens if…”

“…we never switch back,” Zach finishes for him.

&&&

Chris is in the unenviable position of trying very, very hard not to be jealous of his own body.  Zach can and has gone out for food, and though it was never said aloud, a bit of a walk so they can both be by themselves to process.  For Chris, at least, the fact that he might never be back in his own body had never even occurred to him until he spent a whole day staring at it, trying not to touch it.

By now he’s pretty sure Zach had felt it, too, the need to put his hands back on what’s his.  It’s part of the reason why they needed a little time apart – Chris found himself repeatedly drawn back to his own body, past the point of comforting pats on the shoulder.  At one point, Zach had simply taken Chris’ hand – well, his own hand – and looked at it, rubbed a thumb over the smooth palm and turned it over.  It felt strange to Chris, of course, but he wasn’t about to say anything about it.  Not when he was burning with the desire to do the same.

It’s _his_ body, dammit.  He’s supposed to be able to put _his_ hands on _his_ hips when he’s frustrated.  Zach isn’t supposed to be licking _his_ lips without even realizing he’s doing it.  The simple wrongness of it is… indescribable.

Not that Zach’s body is an awful place to live.  It’s certainly got better posture than his own, and it actually craves healthy food (well, okay, it craves unhealthy food, too, but Chris has never once in his own body had the thought, “God, I’d kill for an edamame and chickpea salad with a light vinaigrette right about now”).  And it functions a hell of a lot better in the morning than Chris’ does, though that’s not saying much.

He stretches out his hands in front of him – he’s not ready for the mirror yet.  They’re pale and long-fingered and slightly hairy at the wrists.  He tries, “These are _my_ hands.  These hands belong to _me_.”

Nope, he’s not buying it.


	6. Saturday

Chris stares at Zach.

Zach stares back at his own face, waiting.

And waiting.

Finally Chris says, “’It’s the judge… in his or her chambers, weighing, books open, pondering the evidence: good, evil, innocent, guilty…  The judge… _Fuck_.  The judge in the chamber of circumspection!  Not the judge on the bench with the gavel.  The shaping of a law, not its execution.’”

Zach fights the urge to scream and instead says, “The point, dear, the point.”  He doesn’t have to fake the frustration.

Chris gnaws furiously on his – on Zach’s – lip and says, haltingly, “’That it should be the questions and… shape of a life…’  Line?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Chris.”

“Well, what the hell do you want from me?”

“I want you to get the goddamn lines right.  And you missed ‘ranging freely over categories’ earlier.  We’re not even to the end of Act One.”

“Well, what the hell do you expect, Zach?” Chris stands, raising his voice, and Zach wonders if he really looks that pathetic when he’s angry.  Or possibly terrified.  Or, most probably, some combination of the two.  “I started learning these lines last night.  The fact that I know _this_ much is a fucking miracle.”

“So start praying for another fucking miracle.  You have to have this perfect by Tuesday night.”

Chris’ jaw drops open, his voice rising in volume as he speaks.  “How could you even think that’s possible?  Even if I knew the lines, I don’t know the blocking, I don’t know my way around the set, I don’t know most of the crew’s _names_.  What the fuck do you really think this is going to accomplish?”

“You have to,” Zach grits out, matching Chris’ volume.  “This is my career, this is my fucking _life_ you’re taking over, and you can’t fuck it up!”

“It’s too much, Zach!  It’s too much for anyone,” Chris practically bellows.  “I’m sorry, but I can’t be Louis, and I sure as _hell_ can’t be you.”

“You don’t have a choice!”

That’s the closer, right there.  Neither of them has a choice.  Unless something suddenly changes between now and Tuesday, either Chris goes on stage as Louis, or Zach gives up the part to Eric.  And since he can hardly take a weeks-long vacation while he teaches Chris what it took him months to learn, he gives Louis up for good.

Suddenly, Zach is tired – more tired than he can remember being in his life.  All the fight drains out of him and he sits down hard on the bed, wanting to die.  _Selfish bastard_ , he thinks of himself.  He hasn’t even been taking Chris’ life into account – Chris can’t just disappear to New York for weeks on end.  It’s lucky enough that he has this much free time.

Zach’s realization of defeat is mirrored on his own face as Chris slowly comes to sit down beside him.  This is how they’ve found they function best: seated beside each other, not looking at each other but facing forward, bodies close enough to touch.

“Zach, I don’t know what to say.  If I could do this, if I thought there was _any way at all_ I could pretend to be even a shadow of you up on stage, I’d do it.  I know how much this means to you.  But if I try and I fail, I promise you, I will fail spectacularly.”

And then he does something Zach never would have expected – he reaches over and takes Zach’s hand in his, and when Zach looks down, for a moment he can pretend that things are back how they should be, that it’s just his hand holding Chris’ hand, their fingers intertwined.  And it’s a good feeling.  He shuts his eyes, which are suddenly burning.

“I remembered the next line,” Chris says softly.  “’That it should be the questions and shape of a life, its total complexity gathered, arranged, and considered, which matters in the end, not some stamp of salvation or damnation which dispenses all the complexity in some unsatisfying little decision – the balancing of the scales.’”

“It’s ‘disperses,’ not ‘dispenses,’ but Jesus,” Zach says, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.  “Kind of appropriate, don’t you think?”

“Why did this happen, Zach?  Why us?  Why now?”

Zach knows he’s not meant to have an answer.  “I don’t know.”  He laughs pitifully.  “I think maybe we could have handled it during Trek, though.”

Chris laughs, and it’s a warm sound that actually makes Zach’s heart lift a little in his chest.  “Oh god, could you imagine?  Well, I wouldn’t tell Uhura that I luuuurv her vageen.  Or I _would_ , but I would do it in a better accent.”

Without letting go of Chris’ hand, Zach awkwardly elbows him.  “Shut up.  My accents are awesome.  Shut up.”

“Well, maybe they are now that you have my talented tongue.”

Zach sighs.  “No, it never would have worked, even during Trek.  You’re too Kirk.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re just… you.  Expressive and headstrong and good with the ladies.”

Chris snorts.  “Not lately I’m not.  And I don’t just mean since Monday.”

“Oh?”

“Wouldn’t expect you to understand.  You’ve got half a dozen Codys lined up by the stage door every night.”

“Okay, point A, there is no stage door, I have to go in and out the front—”

“Ooh, low budget and hipster.  I like it.”

“Shut up.  And point B… you heard those messages.  You think I want to do anything with Cody and his ilk other than make sure their mouths are occupied?”  Zach reflects on what he just said.  “God, that makes me sound like a crass bastard.”

Chris slouches down a little until he’s practically leaning on Zach’s shoulder and makes a little snorting sound.  “And everybody thinks you’re this proper gentleman.”

“Hey, I make them breakfast after.  That’s what all the granola bars are for.”

They both chuckle and fall into a strangely comfortable silence, now fully slumped against each other on the bed.

“I’m not that much of a manslut, I don’t think,” Zach finally says.  “It’s just so hard to come back here alone after– well, you know, you’ve been trapped in here for a week.  I don’t even have Noah to show up at the door with one of my shoes chewed all to hell.”

“Did you get to see them before Joe took you to the airport?”

Zach grins and drops his eyes.  “Yeah.  God, I miss the little bastards.”

When Zach looks up, Chris is looking at him, and Zach recognizes the expression on his own face: curiosity and… desire.  Chris reaches up with the hand that isn’t twined with Zach’s and brushes his body’s face, thumb gently gliding up the cheekbone.  “Do I really blush so easily?”

“Um, kind of,” Zach says, completely unsure what the protocol is here.  “We both do, I think.”

Chris must catch the uncertainty in Zach’s eyes, because he pulls his hand away – but not very far.  “Sorry, that must have been weird.  I just keep getting this urge to touch you.  Or maybe me.   I don’t know.  But this body is… drawn to my body.”

However badly he was blushing before, it’s ten times as bad now.  “Yeah, um.  I think maybe… whatever switched sees its old home and… wants it back.”

“So you do feel it, too.”

“I… yeah.”  It’s true.  It’s just not so strong that Zach can’t keep his hands off… himself.  There’s an even more easily identifiable reason for Chris’ quandary, it’s just that Zach doesn’t want to have to say it out loud.  But for fuck’s sake, the man’s in his _body_ , it’s not like he’s—

And Zach’s train of thought is utterly cut off by a pair of warm, dry lips pressing against his own.  He would’ve thought he’d be too stunned to react, but apparently Chris’ body – or his mouth, at least – is well-trained for this situation, because his eyes slam shut and he’s kissing back, moving unfamiliar lips against familiar, like kissing backwards.  It’s… good.

But it’s not _right_ , not until he tells Chris…  He finally pulls his hand out of Chris’ and pushes him back gently.  “Chris, it’s not just the… bodyswap thing.”

Zach knows the daze in Chris’ eyes very well – there’s not a whole lot of sharp thinking going on behind them just now.  “Huh?”

“Remember when we were talking about how much of desire is stored in the body and how much is stored in the mind?  Well, it’s obviously not all in the mind, because—”

“You want me.”

“I, um.”  Zach pulls away until no part of him is touching Chris, and that feels even more wrong than the kiss.  That Chris had been so matter of fact about it…  “Yes.  Thank you for cutting through the bullshit.”

Chris briefly cups a hand over his mouth, and for one horrible moment Zach is sure he’s covering up a sound of disgust, but all that comes out is a gentle laugh.  “Hey, you ever read Cracked?”

Okay, that gets Zach’s attention.  He looks up.  “What?”

“The website.  I did a 30-second bit in a short film for them once, a friend of a friend thing.  Pretty funny site.  Anyway, they have this whole thing about if you ever met a clone of yourself, you would have to either fight or fuck.”

Right.  Okay.  “ _What_?”

“Well, I mean, it’s not completely applicable, since we just switched bodies – we still have two different minds, two different sets of opinions and accumulations of knowledge.  But the basic principle is the same.  You either want to see if you can physically best yourself in a fight… or you know all the things that get you hot and get you off.”

“You’re… _insane_ ,” Zach says, not believing his own (well, Chris’) ears.  “How did I not know that all this time?”

Chris just laughs again, but it’s not a manic laugh.  “I think we already figured out who would win in a fight.”

“Gravity.”

“Exactly.”

“So, on the basis of my physical attraction to you and a comedy website you read one time, you think we should…”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

It’s said lightly, and Zach can’t believe what he’s hearing.  “I repeat: insane.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that,” Chris says, but he’s moving forward slowly into Zach’s space… and Zach can’t seem to move away.  “But right now, it’s what I want.”  He leans in again to press a kiss to Zach’s mouth, this time with a hand cupped behind Zach’s neck.  “And what if it’s the thing that switches us back?”

It should be absurd.  Zach should be laughing.  Except he’s not – Chris’ body is _responding_ to the kisses, quite eagerly in fact.  The only thing Zach’s mind has snagged on is the “right now.”  Right now, it’s what Chris in Zach’s body wants.  Odds are good that, when they switch back, Chris goes right back to being straight and Zach goes right back to denying he’s half in love with Chris.  He has to pull away again.

“Why would that switch us back?”

Chris bites his lips and shrugs.  “I don’t know.  It’s just… something about it seems to make sense, you know?  Two bodies getting as close as they possibly can, trying to occupy the same space.  I kind of almost felt it when we, y’know, literally collided earlier.  Fusion, Zach.  From where I’m sitting, it seems like our best shot.”

As pick-up lines go, “it seems like our best shot” is objectively terrible, but if there’s a chance he can get his body back, his life and his career and Louis back… and he just happens to get to fuck Chris in the process…  Can he say no to that?

All signs point to no, because Chris is kissing him again and Zach is absolutely sinking into the warmth of his body.  He can’t believe Chris is initiating this.  In all of his wildest dreams… well, okay, in about a third of his wildest dreams this is possible, but right now Zach is tilting his head to get what is technically Chris’ tongue deeper into his own mouth, so fuck _possible_.  This is _happening_.

He’s not sure which of them falls back to the bed first, but their legs are twined and hands are gripping into fabric to pull close as soon as they get there.  For a moment, Chris gains the upper hand, pressing Zach down into the bed and running his tongue teasingly over Zach’s top lip and _fuck_ , does that turn him on. 

Of course.  Of _course_ it turns him on, because Chris knows what his own body likes.  Sure Chris had said the same thing not five minutes ago, but Zach’s always been a bit of a kinesthetic learner.  He fists his hand in the front of Chris’ shirt and gives a sharp tug, pulling their bodies even closer, and just as he expects, it draws a surprised, aroused grunt out of Chris and a thrust against Zach’s thigh.  Zach has trouble admitting it, but he does love being manhandled at times.

This time it’s Chris who pulls away, gasping.  “So, uh, I think I’m going to have to defer to your expertise here.  How do you want to do this?”

Oh, god, there are so many ways Zach could answer that question.  But if he’s got one shot with Chris, he knows what he wants.  “Do you trust me?” he asks.

Chris’ eyes narrow a little with concern.  “That’s not really a question I want to hear in bed.”

“No, seriously,” Zach says, pushing up on one elbow.  “I know this…”  He reaches out and strokes a hand down his own side, surprised at the heat of the skin beneath the fabric.  “…this body.  I know how to make it feel good.  And I want you to let me fuck you.”

Chris’ eyes go wide, and Zach guesses this is what he looks like when he’s struggling to act casual.  “You bottom?  Because I got the distinct impression…”

“With the Codys of the world, yeah, I usually top.  But I really, really like to get fucked by someone who knows how to do it right.  And Chris…”  He hasn’t got Chris’ angelic smile down yet, but he does have his own wicked grin to fall back on, which must look positively sinful on Chris’ face.  “I know how to do it right.”

“I, uh,” Chris says, his mouth opening and shutting, and Zach almost gives him an out.  But then Chris says, “Sure, what the hell.  I mean, you’re only Zach once, right?”

“God, let’s hope so.”  He takes his own face between his hands and leans down to kiss his lips lightly.  Now that he’s gotten into the idea of this, it seems right.  “Hey, this is gonna be good.  Like, ‘fuck us back into the right bodies’ good.  And if it’s too weird, you can always pull the emergency brake, right?”

“Do I need, like, a safe word?”

Zach somehow manages not to laugh.  “I think ‘Zach, stop it’ will work just fine.”

“Yeah,” Chris says, seeming to gain confidence.  “Alright, yeah.   Should we, uh… naked?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking this is gonna be the awkward part,” Zach says, planting a final kiss on his own lips.

Without discussing it, they turn their backs and scoot to opposite sides of the bed to undress.  As he shimmies out of Chris’ jeans and underwear, Zach looks down and blushes.  “Hey, Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Would it be weird if I said I liked your cock?  It’s just… kind of gorgeous to look at.  I also may have…  groomed the surroundings a bit.”

He hears a hearty laugh from behind him.  “Zach, we are so far beyond weird now that I’m just going to say ‘thank you’ and leave it at that.  I mean, you’re the cock expert, right?”

“Well, I did major in musical theatre.  So, yes.  And this is among the best cocks I have ever seen.  Definitely in the top two I have ever test driven.”

“Okay, I just had a moment of how insane this is,” Chris laughs, and Zach chances a quick look back over his shoulder.  Chris is naked now, but still facing away.  Zach’s doing the same, both of them delaying the supremely awkward moment to come.

“Chris,” Zach says, trying to sound a little authoritative.  He _is_ the Cock Authority in the room, after all.  “Get yourself hard.”

“O-okay,” Chris says, and Zach hears him spit into his palm.  “Any particular reason?”

“I’m doing the same.  I just have a feeling we don’t want to turn around and see ourselves… droopy, is all.”

Chris laughs again, and it does good things for the erection swelling in Zach’s hand.  “Tell you what,” Chris says, “I’m just going to go ahead and get on the bed.  I’m guessing face down is probably good?”

“God, yes.   For so many reasons.”

“Okay, I’ll do that, and you get the stuff we need.  I’m assuming you have it.  In large quantities.”

“You should know.  If you want large quantities, check the contents of your left hand.”

“Ha fucking ha, Quinto,” Chris snorts, and Zach hears him start to climb up on the bed.  Yeah, this is so much easier when they don’t take it seriously.

Zach quickly goes to his nightstand, pulls out the condoms and the really good, expensive lube.  Nothing’s too good for his own ass, after all.  Without looking up, he says, “Lie face down, put a pillow under your hips, and hike one of your legs up.”

“You’re gonna…  I mean, you’re not just gonna…”

“Relax, princess, I’m going to get you nice and ready first.”  Zach takes a deep breath and turns to face the bed, not quite as freaked out by the sight of his own body stretched out on the bed as he thought.  He’s fucked guys with his own build before.  Chris has his face is turned the other way, and it’s just a body.  A lean, well-toned body containing a man he really, really wants and finally gets to have.  Nothing weird about that.  Just good.

“Comfortable?” Zach asks as he settles in between Chris’ spread legs.

“Yeah, not too b—HNNNNNNGH THE FUCK, ZACH?”

Zach removes his mouth from between Chris’ butt cheeks to answer, “I said I was gonna get you ready.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t – god, fuck.  God.  God.  Za-ach!”

Zach takes the fact that Chris is already confusing him with a deity as a sign that he’s doing the right thing.  When he plunges his tongue in, he hears an honest-to-god squeak from further up the bed, and he’s sure he’s never made that sound before in his life.  Poor, deprived Chris – from the sounds and non-words he’s making, if he’s ever had this done to him before, he certainly hasn’t had it done this well.

He has to stop when Chris is squirming so hard he’s a little worried he might break his nose.  Plus, he has a feeling Chris isn’t going to ask him to stop any time soon.  Or ever.  Zach stretches his jaw and goes for the lube.  “You ever had fingers in you, Pine?”

“Yeah.  I had this girlfriend once who—”

“Didn’t ask for details.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“I just don’t particularly want to hear about your girlfriends at the moment,” Zach says, a little snappish.

“Look, Zach,” Chris says, and he turns his head, which gets Zach to pause with his dripping fingers halfway to Chris’ hole, because yeah, it’s his own face staring at him.  “I want this.  Like, a lot.  But I’ve never done it before, and I’m trusting you one hell of a lot to let you do this to me.  Do you get that?”

Chastened, Zach nods.  “Got it.  Now could you please turn back around?  I want this, too, but there’s only so much… surreality I can handle.”

Chris chuckles as he gets back into position.  “I hear that, man.”

Zach knows his body can probably take two fingers right away, but it’s been a while and he doesn’t want to scare Chris off, so he starts with one, circling the tight hole before pushing in.  Chris makes an unidentifiable groaning noise, but he seems to know to push out, so this girlfriend of his must have been pretty thorough.  In no time at all, Zach is fucking Chris on two fingers, just about ready for three, when he decides to show off a little and crook his fingers in just the right spot.

“Ho- _OH_ shit!” Chris cries out.  “What the fuck, Zach?  Was that your prostate?”

“Yup.”

“Because mine is… nice.  But it doesn’t do tha- _haaaat_.”

Zach rubs the bundle of nerves indulgently at an angle he can never quite reach himself.  He’s always had to be dependent on toys or lovers, but _this_ , this is just plain fun.  He has Chris wriggling and gasping in minutes, begging for another finger.

“C’mon, Zach, quit dicking around and fuck me,” Chris gasps, and Zach can hardly say no to that.  He looks down at his cock, hard and even a little wet at the tip from his enjoyment of all Chris’ squirming.  Fuck, his body hasn’t taken anything this thick in a while, but Chris sure as hell sounds ready, so Zach rolls on a condom and lubes up as quick as he can.

“Just get in me, you fucking tease!” are the last words Chris manages to get out before Zach is shoving his thighs wide, spreading his hole open with one hand and guiding his dick in with the other.  Fuck, it’s a tight fit, and he pauses with just the head in so both of them can catch their breath.

And Chris is one seriously loud motherfucker, groaning in bliss and pain as he stretches around his own cock.  But it’s not long before he’s demanding more:  “In me, Zach.  More.  Closer.”

Zach knows exactly what he means, pushing in slowly until he’s flush against Chris’ hips, and he drapes himself over Chris’ back.  This is it; they’re as close as two people can get, Zach buried to the hilt in his own body, and it feels more right than anything that’s happened since Monday.  And Chris must feel it, too, because he’s wailing into the pillow, a steady stream of _yes yes fuck yes please_ , and when Zach closes his eyes, it’s like he’s hearing Chris’ voice instead of his own, and they’re back in their own bodies, just two guys fucking because they’re too hot for each other to do anything else.

But of course it’s not true – not yet, at least, Zach tells himself – and he has to keep going, to lift up on his arms and pull back to thrust.  He has to admit to experiencing Chris’ narcissistic fantasy of wanting to know just how well he can fuck himself, and all evidence seems to point to pretty damn well.  He fucks down into the body beneath him, hitting the sweet spot dead on and making Chris gasp out obscenities and yank the sheets so hard they come loose from the corners of the bed.

Zach is so focused on Chris that he forgets his own pleasure until Chris shoves his hips up in the air and clenches, trying to get Zach’s attention and a hand beneath his body to stroke himself.  Zach grunts at the unexpected surge of pleasure and yanks Chris’ hips up, sacrificing the perfect angle to be able to pump Chris’ cock with one hand while he fucks hard into his body.

Chris gives up on trying to stroke himself, just braces his hands on the mattress and lets himself be fucked and jerked until he’s spattering the sheets with precum, seconds away from blowing.  He still needs a little something to push him over the edge, and completely without shame, Zach brings his other hand down hard against the ass he’s fucking and Chris loses it, shooting with a near-howl that Zach is pretty sure shakes the walls.

He’s still quaking with it, clenching around the cock inside him when Zach can’t hold back any longer and shudders hard into climax, groaning Chris’ name as he comes.  He keeps rocking into the body beneath him until he can’t stand it anymore and has to pull out, drawing pained cries from both of them.

Beneath him, Chris draws shakily up on hands and knees to remove the soiled pillow while Zach gets rid of the condom.  By the time he’s back, Chris is lying on his side on the bed, facing away from Zach but reaching a hand back, which Zach takes as a wordless request to be the big spoon.  He’s correct about that – once he’s curled around Chris’ back once more, that feeling of _rightness_ returns, of wrapping his own body as well as Chris’ being tightly in his arms.

They don’t speak; hearing each other’s voices would ruin the moment, and there’s nothing to say, anyway.  Zach rests his forehead against the back of Chris’ neck, and when he closes his eyes, he can smell both of them mingled together, the way it should be.  As he drifts off to sleep, he has the fleeting thought that when they switch back, he is gonna be some kind of sore in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re interested, the Cracked website Chris mentions can be found [here](http://www.cracked.com/blog/human-clones-do-you-fk-or-fight/). Yes, it’s A Thing.


	7. Saturday

Chris is trying very hard to roll over, but something is trying very hard to stop him.

“Mmrgmph,” the thing says.

Chris tries again, this time leading with his elbow.  The thing definitely does _not_ like that, because it says a recognizable, “ _Ow_ , the fuck?”

And it says it in Chris’ voice.

That slams Chris immediately into wakefulness as he yanks up the sheet to look down at the body beneath it.  Still not his.  “Goddamn it.”

The thing, which is kind of obviously Zach now, says, “It didn’t work?”

“No, it didn’t work.”  Chris scoots back before he rolls over, and this time he manages it.  Unfortunately.  “And _fuck_ , am I sore.”

“Uh, yeah,” Zach says, his cheeks flushing.  “That happened.”

“Arrgh, I can’t believe we did that!” Chris moans.  “I let you fuck me.  In the ass.  And we’re still stuck here.  I let you fuck me in the ass!  That should have worked.  I was so _sure_ that was going to work.  What the fuck.”

But suddenly Zach isn’t blushing anymore.  Chris sees that his face has gone pale as Zach stares right at him.  Chris figures it’s the whole I’m-looking-at-my-own-bedhead thing, but Zach looks distinctly humorless as he turns and pushes up from the bed.  “Alright, I’m going to go shower.  I’ll try to think of other solutions.  Ones that don’t involve… doing what we did.”

The curt, clipped tone in which he says it takes Chris by surprise.  “Yeah, uh, okay,” Chris says, watching his body retreat into the bathroom.  Okay, he does have kind of a nice ass.  Quite a nice ass.  Maybe while they’re still switched, Zach will let him—

No.  He can’t think like that.

But why not?  They might be stuck in these bodies for quite a while (he still refuses to think the word “permanently” – he’s an optimist, goddammit), so why not get to know what it feels like from the other side.  Despite the lingering soreness and the growing itch from the dried lube between his thighs – why did he let Zach have first shower? – last night had been good.  Really, really good.  He’d never thought he’d be the kind of guy to enjoy having a cock in his ass, even if he were gay, but now he sort of is, and he just found out he _really_ does.  Zach’s cock, at least.  Or a cock controlled by Zach, rather, even if it actually belongs to Chris.

Fuck, Chris can feel a headache coming on.

Though he can hear the shower running in the next room, Chris feels like Zach is much too far away.  Last night’s closeness, both during the fucking and after, that had felt amazing, almost _necessary_.  Chris isn’t sure he’s ever felt anything like it, certainly not with any girl he’s ever been with.

So fuck it, he’s joining Zach in the shower.  It’s a tiny little cubicle thing, but they’d been much closer last night, so it’s actually a bit of an exciting thought.  If he can manage to clean out his ass without elbowing Zach in the face.  That would probably kill the mood.

The mirror is already blurred with steam when he enters the bathroom, so he can’t see Zach’s face staring back at him – probably a good thing, though he’s getting more and more used to the image.  “Mind if I join you?” he asks the cloud of steam emanating from behind the curtain.  “I’m covered in various types of dried fluids and it’s… unpleasant.”

“I’ll be out in a second.”

“I’m cool with sharing,” Chris says, pulling back the shower curtain and stepping in.  Zach pulls out of the way as much as he can, which is not very much.  He’s all flushed and soapy and wet and… yeah, okay, it’s kind of weird for Chris to be thinking, but he’s totally hot like this.  Chris smiles.  “I’d offer to wash your back, but I think you’ve already got it.”

“No, yeah, I was just rinsing off,” Zach says, edging beside Chris to get under the spray.  He moves so quickly that Chris barely has a chance to touch him before Zach says, “Okay, all yours” and ducks out.

Chris pokes his head out.  “You sure you’re done?”

Zach has already grabbed a towel and is drying off.  “Yeah.  Doesn’t take me long, especially now that I don’t have to worry so much about my hair.”

“Hey, I should be offended by that,” Chris mutters, but Zach doesn’t seem to hear him.

“I’m gonna… I don’t know, Google some more stuff, see if we missed anything,” Zach says, and then he’s out the door.

Chris sighs and goes back in the shower cubicle.  Yeah, maybe playing grab-ass in here is better in imagination than reality – it _is_ really small.  So Chris frowns and looks at the array of bath products Zach has miraculously managed to cram into the tiny space.  He looks for a bottle he hasn’t yet sampled and goes for it.  Surely he could stand some volumizing.  Somewhere.

&&&

It’s hard for two people to avoid each other in a tiny New York apartment, but somehow Chris and Zach manage it.  Or rather, Zach manages it, and Chris tries not to follow him around like a needy puppy.  Zach is almost icily polite to Chris, asking him what he wants for lunch and offering to go out and pick something up.

It literally has Chris scratching his head (maybe the volumizer wasn’t the best choice).  What did he do?  He’d been under the impression that the sex had been as good for Zach as it had for him.  Sure, they didn’t exactly have a heart-to-heart afterwards, but did guys even do that?  And there had been cuddling – some very nice cuddling, though Chris sadly hadn’t stayed awake very long to enjoy it.

Chris just figures it’s the fact that they still haven’t gotten things back to normal.  After all, Chris hadn’t exactly been happy to wake up in Zach’s body either.  Still, Zach’s reaction seemed a little… extreme.  It’s got to be this damn play.  Ugh, what shitty timing for Zach.

But the Thai food that Zach brings back is good (from a place Chris hadn’t known about or he’d have been sneaking in there every night in a hoodie and sunglasses) and the relish with which Chris eats it seems to relax Zach somewhat.   They still don’t exactly manage to have a conversation, but Zach starts looking Chris in the eye again, so that’s something.

It’s late in the afternoon when the phone rings, and Chris still has to stifle the urge to pick it up.  A ringing phone is hard to ignore, even after a week.

“You haven’t been answering my calls, have you?” Zach asks warily.

“No, of course not.  Though occasionally I’ve been tempted to—”

The answering machine finally clicks on and Chris hears the familiar “Hey, it’s Zach.  If you need further instructions, you probably shouldn’t be operating a telephone.” BEEP.  And then…

“Zach, it’s Cody.  It’s been more than a week.  Why aren’t you returning my calls?  I’m worried about you, baby.  I miss your hot mouth, your big dick.  I might have to come over there so we can—”

And that is _it_ ; Chris has his limits, and Cody has breached them.  In many, many ways.  Before Zach can stop him, Chris grabs the phone and picks it up.  “Cody, baby…” he practically purrs into the mouthpiece.

And nearly bursts out laughing at the look on Zach’s face.  He has to simultaneously evade Zach’s lunge at the phone and listen to Cody stutter haplessly on the other end of the line – he obviously wasn’t expecting Zach to actually pick up.

Chris waves Zach off, mouthing an _I’ve got this_.  Zach does _not_ look like he believes Chris, but what can he do?  “Listen, sweetheart,” Chris says, mimicking Zach’s sexy voice, “what we had was special.  You were great.  I enjoyed every minute of it.   But did I make any promises to you?”

“Did you—?” Cody starts to repeat, baffled.  “I... no?”

“Did we make any plans for future hookups?”

“No?”

“You’re two for two, babe.”  Chris can count the number of times he’s heard Zach use this voice –low, winking, dark as chocolate fudge – on one hand, but he always did have a gift for imitation, so he pours it on thick.  “It’s my fault – I should’ve told you, I’ve got a man.”

Off to the side, Zach flaps his arms and mouths _WHAT_?

But Chris just goes on.  “We have an open thing, but I always come back to him.  No matter how sweet the temptation.  And make no mistake, you were very, _very_ … sweet.”

Zach is now frozen in place with jaw on the floor as Cody babbles, “Th-thank you?”  Jesus, can this kid say anything that doesn’t come out as a question?

“Never gonna forget your body, baby.  But we were both meant to move on.  Find yourself someone who can appreciate that luscious ass on a regular basis.  It just can’t be me.  So the phone calls need to stop.  Okay, babe?”

“Okay.”  Finally, a definitive statement.

“Great.  Take care of your fine self, Code.  Bye.”

Chris hangs up.

He turns to Zach, who is not moving a muscle save for something in his forehead that is twitching spastically.  “See?  That’s all you had to do.”

Zach breathes in deep, and Chris braces himself for the Almighty Wrath of the Quinto.  But what he gets instead is the loudest, braying donkey laugh in Chris’ repertoire, and okay, it’s kind of annoying, but it isn’t Chris’ own hands around his throat, so that’s something.

“You just…” Zach wheezes out.  “Luscious ass?”

“I had to make some assumptions,” Chris says, trying to be deadpan but cracking almost immediately.

“ _Code_?”

“I couldn’t help myself!  I’d already said ‘babe’ about twelve thousand times by then!”

And now Zach is giggling so hard he has to grab on to a chair to keep himself upright.  “I can’t fucking believe you just did that!  I can’t fucking believe I _sound_ like that!”

“Only when you’re trying really hard to get laid,” Chris says between cackles.  “Or, y’know, unlaid, as the case may be.”

“Do you think he’s going to call back?”

“Would you?”

“Never.  I would realize that I’m a mental patient and steer very, very clear of me, no matter how sw-weet—”  Zach can hardly get the words out, he’s gasping so hard with laughter.  “The _temptation_!”

&&&

Whatever stick had been up Zach’s ass that morning had been removed by Chris’ conversation with Cody.  They laughed themselves sick – Chris actually thought he was going to lose some of that delicious Thai food – and ended up crawling to the bedroom, where they’re now sitting next to each other, backs against the foot of the bed.

They’re silent for a long while, first getting their breath back, and then just… being.  It used to be that even when Chris closed his eyes, he could still tell that something was off, that he was poured into the wrong container.  But now when he shuts his eyes, he feels nothing but peace, despite the fact that exactly none of their problems have been solved.  And a sore ass, because… yeah.

He winces, trying to put more weight on his right butt cheek, when out of nowhere Zach says, “I reread the Jack Ryan script, and with that new writer they brought in?  It’s not half bad.”

It shouldn’t matter what Zach thinks of Chris’ career – after all, he’s seen some of Zach’s little projects, and Zach has no room to judge – but for some reason, it does.  “Uh, thanks, man.  You really liked it?”

“Well, I mean, it’s not No Country for Old Men, but it’s got some real weight to it now.”

“So you would give a shit if Jack Ryan got killed with a bolt gun?”

“Oh, I might even give two shits.”

Chris laughs, adjusting his position again.  “Movie reviews with Zach Quinto:  two shits up!”

“I could have a whole new career,” Zach says, and suddenly the mood in the room changes.  Because if nothing happens soon, they’re both going to have to have new careers.  Chris obviously can’t do Angels; that much is certain.  And his backing out of the play won’t be good for “Zachary Quinto” and his career.   “Chris Pine” is in a little better shape, but Zach’s missed some of the prep work for This Means War, and someone’s bound to notice that “Chris” is suddenly a different actor with a completely different approach to the craft.

“I’ll… Well, _you’ll_ call Michael tomorrow,” Zach says, his voice stiff.  “Give Eric the whole day to rehearse before he has to go on on Tuesday.  You may even need to go down to the theater – that’s not going to be pleasant.”

“Okay,” Chris says tentatively.  “But let’s… let’s not even think about that right now.  We’ve still got a day, and we’ve gone over everything we can think of.  Twice.  ‘The time has come, the walrus said, to talk of other things.’”

The corner of Zach’s mouth twitches up in what might almost be a smile.  “You got any suggestions, other than cabbages and kings?”

“Yeah, how about this: damn it, Zach, are you always this sore after you bottom?”

“If I haven’t bottomed in a while, then yeah.  And I haven’t.”  All of a sudden that iciness is creeping back into Zach’s voice, and Chris’ll be damned if he has to deal with stick-up-his-ass Zach again.

“It was really fucking good, though,” Chris admits.  “ _So_ much better than I thought it would be.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I trusted you and all, but I had my doubts.  But ho-ly fuck.  That prostate thing?  That is some high-quality hotness.”

“Wait, so…”  Zach sounds so befuddled that Chris has to turn and look at him.  “You’re okay with it?”

“Uh, were you paying attention to the part where I _screamed_?  You are a total fucking stud.  I will no longer mock your capabilities in the sack.”

“But… this morning.”

“What about this morning?”

Zach’s eyes are narrowed in confusion.  “Chris, you were _disgusted_ this morning.  You saw me in bed with you and it was, like, I was your worst drunken hookup of all time.  Times twelve.”

“I… what?”  Chris tries to replay the events of the morning in his head.  “Oh, shit, no.  I just was hoping so hard to wake up in my own body.  When I saw myself instead of you it was just… such a letdown.  It wasn’t because it was you.  It… Jesus, if you think I’d let anybody else do that to me…  Not that it’s a repulsive thing or anything, but it’s just so… intimate.  You said it yourself – you only bottom for guys you trust, guys you know can do it right.”

“So…” Zach says slowly, “it wasn’t because it was a guy?  Because it was me?”

“Jesus, _that’s_ why you treated me like shit all morning?  No, Zach, please inform your delicate ego that my disappointment upon waking was solely the product of _not being in my own fucking body_.  You’d think I’d have gotten used to it by now, but it seems that I haven’t.”

“Hey, what was I supposed to think?  It was your first time with a guy.  And I’ve had that happen before, the morning after ‘the first time with a guy.’  I know the look.”

Maybe it’s Chris’ blue eyes, but Zach really does look a little fragile at the moment, and Chris feels bad.  “I’m sorry.  I… fuck, I don’t know what it means.  What any of this means.  If it’s because you’re in my body, and I wanted my body in _your_ body, or your body is affecting _my_ mind and what I want.  I just know that it felt good.  And it was weird, not half because I was staring at a pillow the whole time.”

“Hey, at least you weren’t staring at the back of your own head,” Zach chuckles.  “That was pretty fucked up.”

Yeah, Chris had thought about that after his realization that he might like to try topping – he doesn’t think he could do it like this.  But what they had before, that closeness, there might be another way…  “Hey, Zach, I have an idea.”

“Is it, like, a fix-it idea or a distraction idea?”

“Distraction, sorry.”

Zach shrugs.  “That’s alright.  Your fix-it ideas do tend to end in pain.”

“Yeah, for me.”  Chris hops up off the floor the best he can, then holds a hand out to Zach.  “Do you trust me?”

“Dammit, I knew I shouldn’t have asked you that last night.  I _knew_ it would come back around to bite me on the ass.”

Chris laughs, pulling Zach to his feet.  “It’s not that bad, trust me.  And you’re free to say no at any time if this is too weird.”

“Oh god, it’s gonna be _weird_?”

“Well, compared to everything else over the past week?  Not really.  Only compared to what is widely acknowledged as reality, and that’s been in the rearview mirror since Monday.  Come on.”  Chris drags Zach to his closet, to the full-length mirror attached to the door.

“Here,” Chris says, positioning Zach in front of the mirror and coming up behind him.  “Just…”  He reaches down to the hem of Zach’s shirt and lifts up.  Zach’s face in the mirror registers confusion, but he lifts his arms obediently and lets Chris pull the garment off.   “And then I’ll…”  Chris takes just enough of a step back for room to pull of his own shirt.

“Chris,” Zach says uneasily, “I don’t know about this.”

“Well, let me _do_ something before you veto it.  Pants off, too.”

“I think ‘pants off’ counts as ‘something,’” Zach grumbles, but he complies.  Underwear, too, as Chris has.

Chris positions them both in front of the mirror again, putting Zach directly in front of him, but Zach flushes and turns his head.  “Chris…”

“No, _look_.  It’s okay,” Chris says, setting a hand on his own hip and massaging the flesh gently.  “That’s the idea.”

“What is?”

“You want to look, right?  And I’m guessing you haven’t, or you’ve felt guilty about it doing it.  I know I have.  So I’m giving you permission.  Look all you want.”

“Does your ego know no bounds, Christopher?” Zach says, but he says it softly, without venom.

And then he looks.

He starts with Chris’ eyes, staring into them nervously.  Chris watches in the mirror as Zach slowly loses the fight with himself to look lower.  Chris wraps his arms around Zach and, in one of the weirdest moments of his life (so far), caresses his own belly.  Zach makes a soft, desperate sound, and Chris sees his cock start to rise.

“It’s okay,” Chris whispers, and it is.  The fact that Zach wants him…  He’s gone through the weirdness – the sex pretty much rendered that moot – and come out the other side and what he’s left with is the fact that his friend, his (if he’s completely honest) attractive, smart as hell, sexy friend wants him.  And Chris is almost surprised that he’s _not_ surprised that he wants Zach, too.  Wants to give his body to Zach this way – not a faceless fuck (as much fun as that had been), but this.

“Give me your hand,” Chris says, and without looking away, he begins to jerk his own cock, using both of their hands.

Chris can’t directly feel how hard he’s getting in Zach’s hand, but he definitely enjoys the way Zach manually appreciates his cock.  Apparently, Zach’s spent a bit of time getting to know this part of Chris’ anatomy, but not so much time that Chris can’t surprise him with a twist here and a squeeze there.

“Let me?” Chris asks, and Zach’s hand falls away quickly, letting Chris stroke and pull at his own rock-hard erection with one hand while his other plays with his balls.  It’s distinctly odd, the motions of jerking off without the sensations, but Chris assumes every other gay guy on the planet has figured this out, so he can, too.  Not to mention the fact that he’s got a distinct advantage in knowing that when he rubs behind the sac, Zach’s not going to be able to stop Chris’ knees from buckling, at least a little.  And he’s ready when his hips start to thrust, slightly out of Zach’s control, fucking Chris’ cock into his fist.

It’s not that Chris is trying to get Zach off as fast as possible, but after last night, the way Zach fucked him mercilessly into bliss, Chris figures turnabout is fair play.  His cock is dripping wet in his hands, and he can tell from the way Zach starts to tremble in his arms that he’s close.

So he’s shocked when Zach grabs his hand to stop him.  “No, wait.”

Chris looks up into the mirror and is surprised to see his own pupils are blown as wide as Zach’s.  Come to think of it, he’s pretty hard himself.  He releases Zach to consider this new development, and Zach turns them to face each other, head tucked close to Chris’, and looks down.  Pretty sure where Zach’s going with this, Chris does the same, shuffling their bodies closer together so they can each get a hand around both their cocks.

When they begin to stroke in unison, Chris is surprised how close he already is, and the extra little pinch Zach gives his nipples with his other hand doesn’t hurt.  Looking down like this, huddled together, it’s nearly impossible to tell whose cock is whose, there’s just pleasure, the satisfying grip of another’s hand.

Not just any other, but Zach.  Zach who flew all the way across the country for him.  Zach who wants him and is man enough to admit it.  Despite all that’s happened, despite all that’s going to happen, he can’t think of any place he’d rather be.  He loves this.  He loves being with Zach.  He loves…

Suddenly, Chris can’t hold back anymore.  He gets out “Zach, I’m gonna—” just as Zach lets out a long moan and Chris crushes their bodies together as they come, thrusting into their combined hands.  Chris squeezes his eyes shut with the force of it, feeling like he’s been knocked clean off his feet, bucking and shuddering mindlessly.  He can’t remember the last time he came this hard, not even last night.

He comes to pressed tightly against Zach, and without moving, lays a kiss against the warm shoulder beneath his lips.  The shoulder that, as he pulls back to look… isn’t his.

“Zach!” he gasps, and it’s in his own voice.  He lifts his free hand – it’s really his again, complete with the little scar from that broken light bulb when he was seven.  He and Zach pull apart to look at each other – and then immediately throw their arms back around each other.

“Chris, it worked!” Zach all but shouts, and Chris has never been happier to hear Zach’s voice in his whole life.  He gets a quick look in the mirror over Zach’s shoulder and it’s his own face looking back at him.  And that should maybe be the most important thing at the moment, but it’s sort of secondary.

“Zach, I hate to question it, I really do, but… what worked?”

Zach takes a small step back, and Chris immediately misses the closeness.  “Well, it can’t have been the sex,” Zach says softly, suspiciously.  “We kinda covered that last night.”

Chris bites his lip, happy to feel the familiar fullness under his teeth, and doesn’t miss the way Zach’s eyes are drawn to his mouth.  “Zach, what were you thinking, just before…  Before?”

Zach goes red, his eyes dropping to the ground, and Chris knows exactly what Corey was talking about: the final cause.  He goes to Zach, lifts his hand (his hand) to tilt Zach’s chin up and look into his eyes.  “Me, too, Zach.  Me, too.”

“So…” Zach starts, looking more vulnerable than Chris can ever remember seeing him.  “I don’t want to…  But what does this…  You’re back in your body, Chris.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but I was _always_ …”

“Oh,” Chris says, the pieces falling into place.  “The gay thing?”

The flush in Zach’s cheeks, which had started to recede, returned in full force.  “To put it delicately, yes.”

“Well…” Chris says, treading carefully.  “I don’t know.”

“Are you still… attracted to me?  Sexually?”

That’s when it hits Chris that they’re both still naked, each other’s cum drying on their hands and bellies.  And that… kind of turns Chris on.  “I… I am.  Yeah.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Zach says, his voice strengthening.  “You’d be okay with me fucking you.”

“If it’s like last night?  Hell yeah.”

“How about sucking my cock?  Because that’s not optional.”

“I, uh…”  Chris thinks about it.  It’s a bit of a weird thought, but also kind of hot.  Him crawling over Zach’s prone body, Zach writhing under the power of his mouth.  “I think I could get into that.”

A smile starts to curl at the edge of Zach’s lips, one that Chris was never able to replicate.  “I do seem to remember you expressing an affinity for all-beef franks.”


	8. Next Tuesday (Epilogue)

Huddled in a back booth of a Chinese restaurant around the corner of 42nd and 11th, Corey carefully picks the onions out of his dish.  “I ordered pepper steak.  Did you not hear me order pepper steak?  I thought I spoke clearly.”

“You did,” says Neal, and though Corey knows he’s just humoring him, he appreciates it.

“I did not order onion steak, nor did I order pepper _and_ onion steak.  Onions were clearly not part of the bargain.”

“Suck it up, Moose.  Starving children in Ethiopia and all that.”

“They are welcome to my onions.”

The first hooded figure plops onto the booth next to Corey.  “Aw, man, they give you onions with your pepper steak?” Chris asks, pulling the hood of his jacket back and unwrapping his scarf.  “I friggin’ hate that.”

Corey tries not to let his relief show – that’s definitely Chris back in Chris’ body.  He doesn’t know the specifics of when it happened, but he legitimately did _not_ think it would take that long.  He thought they’d end up in the same city within a day, confess their undying love for each other in three days, tops.  Turns out they’re both a bit thick in the skull, Chris and Zach, and Corey’s timing… well, it could have been better.

It takes a few more minutes for the second hooded figure to arrive, and fortunately he doesn’t seem to have been followed by any giggling girls wearing, for some bizarre reason, stripes.  Zach slides in next to Neal, and Corey immediately blurts, “Oh, apologies, we should have rearranged so the lovebirds could sit together.”

Chris gapes.  “Wait, how the hell do you know about that?”

“I have my ways, Pine,” Corey says, waggling his eyebrows.

Zach sighs.  “I told Neal.  I assume Neal told Corey.”

“Neal is but one of my many ways.”  Nope.  Despite Corey’s little… experiment, it wasn’t until Neal called him that he’d known it had been a success.  He’s not, like, a wizard or anything.

“Zach, I apologize,” says Neal.  “I thought Moose could pull it together and _not_ act like a twelve-year-old this time.”

Zach frowns.  “Why would you think that?”

“It’s fine,” Chris says, placatingly.  “I know you won’t go around blabbing.”

“See?” Corey says, vindicated.  “Somebody trusts me.”

Neal sighs heavily and turns to Chris.  “I’m glad you could make it to a show.  And nurse Zach back to health.  He’s the biggest baby when he’s sick.  I can’t imagine what he was like after a whole week of it.”

Zach starts in, defensively, “Hey, I wasn’t—”

“Oh, he wasn’t so bad,” Chris says, flushing, and Corey has to stop himself from shaking his head in sadness.  These guys are actors?  Pitiful.  But Neal doesn’t seem to suspect anything amiss, and Corey doesn’t plan on divulging that particular secret any time soon.

He might as well help them out and change the subject.  “So, Chris, how much longer are you in town for?”

“I have to fly out in the morning,” he says, with a quick glance at Zach.  “Preproduction on This Means War.”

“Then why are you sitting here wasting time with us?” Corey asks.  He gestures with his chopsticks.  “Go.  Go forth and… well, for god’ s sake, don’t procreate, but enjoy yourselves.”

Zach groans and drops his forehead to the table, but Chris just reaches across the table and ruffles Zach’s hair.  “We just wanted to stop by and say hello.  So, ‘hello.’  Now we’re off.”

Corey watches as Zach tries to look annoyed with Chris and fails miserably, hitting “lovesick” pretty dead on.  “I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow,” Zach says, pushing up from the table.  Chris quickly follows, mutters a “goodbye,” then they’re both pulling their hoods back up and heading for the door.

Neal watches them go, then turns his attention back to his cashew chicken and shakes his head.  “Jesus, they might as well just hold hands and skip out of here.  They’re gonna get caught.”

“Neal, could you stop being a Grinch for five seconds and be happy for them?  We’ve had to listen to Zach pining – if you’ll excuse the terrible pun – for _years_ , and obviously Chris just needed a little push.”

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Neal asks, “Why are you so pleased about this?  It’s not like you had anything to do with it.”

“Didn’t I, Neal?  Didn’t I?”

“Did you call up Chris and tell him Zach was in love with him.”

“No.”

“Did you convince Zach to confess his undying love for Chris?”

“Not exactly.”

Neal rolls his eyes.  “’Not exactly.’ What does that even mean?”

“It means that sometimes people need a little… nudge in the right direction.  The more unconventional the situation, the more unconventional the… nudge.”

“What are you talking about?”

Corey grins, leaning back proudly in his chair.  “The O’Flannery brothers know about more than auto repair, Nealy boy.  Much, much more.”

Neal rolls his eyes.  “Whatever, Moose.  Eat your pepper steak.”


End file.
